


A feisty Lass

by Lady of Spain (ladyofspain7)



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofspain7/pseuds/Lady%20of%20Spain
Summary: After Jamie rescues Claire from Capt. Black Jack Randall, he and his kinfolk demand restitution for their pain and suffering. The results wreak havoc on their relationship. First place winner for best fanfic character, Jamie, at 2016 BiT Awards.





	1. A Brute with a Brogue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: this story takes place after Jamie rescues Claire from the clutches of Captain Black Jack Randall at Fort William.

 

Chapter 1: A Brute with a Brogue

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all the rights to Outlander

 

. . . . .

My heart wouldn’t stop pounding even as Jamie hoisted me quickly upon his steed. Settling himself behind me, he drew me to his chest. He spurred the beast into a gallop and we sped with his cohorts, away from that awful place and that monster, Captain Black Jack Randall. The fort reverberated with the sounds of guns firing, and redcoats yelling at the top of their lungs. Murtagh, Rupert, Angus, and the others pivoted on their animals, shouting back curses in Gaelic, I’m sure, and answering the shots with a barrage of their own. Jamie was without a gun; it was just as well, because with every inch of ground we covered, his hold on me tightened substantially.

Nearing a spot close to a forested area, Jamie turned the horse aside, following a trail peppered with tiny spots of snow. Tugging on the reins, he brought the horse to a halt, and yanking his shirt up over his head, passed it to me over my shoulder. “Yer constant shiverin’ is scarin’ the horse, lass. Best ye put this on. I’ve no pleasure in sharin’ the sight of yer lovely breasts to the rest o’ the men neither, ye ken.”

I agreed wholeheartedly, pulling it down over my torn corset. It was enough that his countrymen spoke of me in lewd commentaries without adding the visual effects that Captain Black had so recently fabricated. I dreaded the possibility of seeing the gleam in their eyes every time they noticed me. So far, I didn’t think any of them had gotten so much as a peek, since Jamie had me out of the garrison and onto his animal in record time.

No sooner had I donned his shirt than I felt his plaid around me, covering the two of us as he had done on the first day we met. Finally, I relaxed against his muscled torso and released a long overdue sigh. My tension returned abruptly though, as Murtagh passed by us on the right, and shot me with a glare that could melt lead. Jamie and I followed down a slope of rocky terrain and to a burn where we plodded through the middle of the river, to throw off anyone tracking us.

. . . . .

We had traveled now for about an hour. Everyone was on edge in the eerie silence, since no one uttered a sound as not to alert any nearby redcoats. The river was getting deeper, and there were areas of ice along the quieter pools. Murtagh was still in the lead, and all at once nearly sank out of our vision. The weight of the animal had caused it to plunge through the ice up to its haunches. With the Scotsman still in the saddle, it thrashed about amid the jagged edges of the frozen liquid, whinnying in fear.

Murtagh slid off and into the icy fluid, pulling at the reins trying to extricate the beast. The horse was wild with fright, rearing his head and churning up the shards of ice, and splashing his owner with the freezing water. Rupert rode up closer to the creature, coiling a rope about his own pommel, and threw the line to his companion. Murtagh in kind, tied it around the horse with considerable difficulty, hoping the added strength would succeed in rescuing the frightened stallion.

“C’mon, now beastie,” Rupert said, patting his horse’s neck. “We canna allow yer friend to drown in the depths, now can we?”

“Or freeze its ballocks off, more like,” Murtagh added, clearly irritated.

The horse continued to strain at the rope, and his aggravated rescuer was red in the face, shaking with the cold, and cursing softly. Heaving one final time, Murtagh and Rupert watched in dismay as the beast apparently slipped on a rock in the river bed and went down beneath the water, with a loud scream.

Desperate now, the two pulled harder and hauled the animal to shore. It was obvious by the way the horse limped, that its front leg was broken. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Murtagh fumed, untying the line, and throwing down the end of the rope. “He’ll have to be put down—a good horse he was, and now isna good for anythin’!”

Glancing my way, he threw me a murderous look, and said, “D’ye hear that, Sassenach …? My horse isna good to anyone now. I hope ye’re verra proud o’ yerself.”

I cringed and buried my face in Jamie’s plaid when I saw Angus pitch his dry pistol to Murtagh. The sound of the gun went off, scaring the few birds perched in the trees. The animal thudded to the ground. The disgruntled Scot handed the weapon back to his friend, and climbed up, riding double on Angus’ horse. He grumbled something, probably meant for me; after all, it was my fault. My decisions cost him his horse and quite possibly all their lives. Castle Leoch, and safety was miles away; my dreams of reaching Craigh na Dun farther yet.

. . . . .

We were in the saddle again for a couple more hours, when three of our party veered off toward Leoch, while Rupert, Murtagh and Angus remained with us traveling east. Curious, I pointed toward the departing riders and asked Jamie, “Where are we going? Isn’t Leoch that way?”

“Aye.”

“Well—”

“We canna go to Leoch, Claire. The redcoats will be swarmin’ the battlements, searchin’ ever’ nook and cranny for us. It’s all we can do to lie low and hope the bastards give op some day.”

I bowed my head, mortified. “I’m sorry. None of this would’ve happened if I had stayed where you told me to.”

His voice was abrupt and rough. “And weel ye should have.”

Jamie was quiet all the way to the inn where Murtagh said it would be safe to stay in the meantime. The rest of our group continued to mutter to him in Gaelic, but for some reason, he never answered them.

Rupert rode on ahead as we neared the inn, to pay for our rooms, I supposed. It would feel so good to get warm again, eat some dinner and have clean water to freshen ourselves up.

By the time Angus tethered the horses, Rupert was gesturing for us to enter, but not before he gave me another disapproving glance, and a nod to Jamie, who dismounted in one smooth movement. He then reached up to me, clasping me about the waist, and carried me into the place. Rupert mumbled something to him, and Jamie sprang up the stairs, two at a time, carrying me to our room.

While we raced up the steps, I spotted Dougal and some others of his familiar cronies sitting at a table and drinking ale. They had all looked up from their drafts when we entered the inn, with the same expression on their faces as Rupert. I guess he’d already told them about our harrowing run-in with the soldiers at the fort.

I almost bounced on the mattress when Jamie hurriedly plunked me down. Peering into his face, I noted the contorted brow and the sadness housed in his bright blue eyes. His cheek muscles were taut, and there was no smile on his lips for me. I had done wrong; no doubt about it. He and his clan were well aware of my misdeeds, and I needed to make amends to him as soon as possible.

My voice was small as I broke the silence in the room. “Was Dougal waiting here for us all this time?”

Jamie answered, nodding, “Aye.”

He stood, stiff as a mannequin, unblinking for such a long period with nary a word after that first curt response. I felt as if his lingering gaze could burn a blazing tunnel clear to my soul. Then, averting his eyes, he sighed loudly.

Standing up from the mattress, I took a step forward and placed my hand on his cheek. In his usual stoic manner, he never mentioned or complained of any injury, and yet there it was staring me in the face. A bullet had glanced off the side of his jaw, leaving a wicked, red furrow behind.

“Let me see to that,” I murmured.

He flicked my hand away, brusquely. “Nay.”

Jamie sighed once more, and peering straight at me, said, “D’ye think lightly on the vows ye take in Oxfordshire?”

I shook my head. “No, I—”

“I canna stand to hear it, Sassenach. Did ye no vow here … to love, honor and obey me? Did it mean nothin’ to ye then?”

He leaned against the wall, looking down at the floor. “I told ye afore that I didna have much o’ a temper. Aye, that much is true, but it saddens me to say that there’re witnesses just down the stairs to see that justice is meted out t’day, temper or no.”

What does he mean by that? “Justice? Whatever are you saying?”

“I’m sayin’ as I’m bound to punish ye.”

I laughed nervously. Surely he wouldn’t be so cruel as to physically assault me. He told me once that I needn’t be scared of him; that he would never hurt me. I tossed my head saucily. “So it’s bread and water for me then?”

Tipping his head up, he answered, “Nay, Claire. I mean to lay a strap to ye.”

I jerked back in surprise. “What?”

His face showed no amusement. “I take nay joy in it, but if I canna do it, Dougal will hand ye o’er to Colum, and ye’ll be stripped to the waist like a common hoor, and flogged. I canna let that happen, ye ken?”

Frowning at him, I remarked, “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.

“If it had been only me in harm’s way, weel then, so be it. But the others … ye put them all in danger as weel. They’ll be no rest for either of us ’til I’ve doled out the punishment as comin’ to ye. I’ll try no to strap ye too hard. I’ve no wish to leave marks on that bonny rear end. It would kill me sure to do so.”

Jaime began to unbuckle his belt. “If ye no struggle, it doesna hurt as bad. But if ye refuse to lie still, ye’ll force me to use my knee on yer back to keep ye from squirmin’.

“Now, bend o’er the footboard, and hike up yer skirt, lass. I’ll no tell ye agin.”

There was no way I would allow him to attack me in that fashion. Crossing my arms, I turned my head away from him. “I will do no such thing.”

Practically shouting at me, he said, “Aye—ye will.”

He walked toward me, and with his index finger, he lifted my chin so that I had to face him. “Look at me, Sassenach. Ye’re such a wee lassie; d’ye think to fight agin’ me, and win?”

I was fuming now. Did he actually suppose that I would cooperate in this atrocity? I started to back up, and meant to run for the door. Jamie saw me glance at it, and immediately blocked the way. He chased me back and forth across the room. I couldn’t avoid him forever, and finally catching me by the wrist, taunted, “I see this will be a bit o’ a battle, aye?”

Trying desperately to wrench my wrist away from him, I clawed with my nails, leaving lines of scratches on his arms and face, but he was too strong for my meager attempts at escape. “Get your hands off me, you brute!” I shrieked at him.

His eyes were aflame. “I didna wanta do it this way, but ye give me nay choice.”

Jamie flung me onto the mattress, face down, and lifting up the back of my skirt, exposed my naked hind end. Then I felt a jolt as he shoved his knee into my back. I was totally humiliated, but after the first sting of his leather belt, I was more than humiliated, I was feeling a searing pain. I screamed at the bite of every stroke, still struggling about, trying to get out from under him.

Twelve stripes he administered. Apparently, there were a prescribed amount of lashes assigned for each specific offense—how very expedient. I was lucky in retrospect to be faced with only twelve. I could just imagine what I could have suffered at Colum’s hand, but that still didn’t soften my feelings toward my husband. My blood was boiling in anger, and I was sobbing in frustration and pain.

He removed his knee and pulled my skirt down to cover my blistered bum. I saw his belt being tossed to the floor, then turning me onto my side offered his hand to help me up. I smacked it away. “Don’t touch me you bloody, barbaric Scotsman.”

Pushing down with my elbow, I lifted myself from the bed, and stood, glowering at him. “You’ll not share my bed ever again,” I snarled at him.

“Ye’re angry, Sassenach, and hungry as weel. Ye’ll feel right better after ye’ve food in yer belly. I’ll go down and fetch somethin’ for ye.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Aye, ye are. Ye’re just too stubborn to admit it to me.”

He picked his belt up off the floor and holding it in his fist, marched out the door to his applauding clansmen. At this moment, I hated them, and Jamie most of all.


	2. Braving the Cold

Chapter 2: Braving the Cold

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon holds all rights to Outlander   
........ 

 

My tears were still going strong when Jamie came back with a jar of something sitting on a tray, along with some dinner. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of eating any of the food, even if I was starving. I wanted to make him pay for the mistreatment of my body at his hands, or more correctly, his belt. 

I ripped off his shirt and dropped it to the floor. “I don’t need this anymore.” Pulling the blankets up around my ears, I glared at the big bully.

Jamie set the tray on the bedside table, and picking the shirt up, tugged it down over his bare chest.

He smiled at me and gestured to the food. “It’s good and hot. The matron here has a touch when it comes to cookin’.”

I narrowed my eyes, as I spouted, “Take it back. I told you, I’m not hungry.”

His face scrunched up, now clearly concerned. “Ye gotta be puttin’ somethin’ in yer stomach, woman. Ye’ve no eaten now since early morn. It pains me to see ye act this way.”

“You should talk! It pains me … my rear end is so sore, it’s ruined any appetite I ever possessed.”

Raising his eyebrows, he quipped, “Is that so? Weel, I’ve had my share o’ strappin’, and sore arse or no, my appetite ne’r got any less because o’ it.”

“Well, bully for you. Now leave me alone.” I turned my face into the pillow to shield myself from seeing him so goddamned cheerful.

Putting the tray on the bedside table, he acquiesced. “All right then, I’ll take ye at yer word. I dinna agree much wi’ yer ponderin’s, but ye are a woman, and Murtagh says women are verra hard to understand. I see the truth of it now.”

I heard Jamie’s boots clomp around the other side of the bed, felt the covers being lifted from me, and a weight descending on the mattress. I faced him, my head at an awkward angle to peer over my shoulder. He was kneeling on the bed, leaning over me with the jar in his hand, opening it.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I bellowed.

He held up his large fingers coated in a clear-looking gel. “It’s a balm to ease yer sores. I’m no a monster. I canna let ye lay there wi’ yer flesh raw as it is. The matron swears this here to healing burns and such.”

Jamie’s hand made gentle contact with my wounded bottom, and I flinched ... not so much from the sting, but from revulsion. “Can’t you get it through that thick, Scottish head of yours, that I don’t want you touching me?” 

He sprang off the mattress, jostling the bed with the movement, muttering in Gaelic.  
I watched as he paced in front of me, his boots thudding heavily along the stone floor. Wagging his finger at me, he took a deep breath to calm himself, and instead of delivering a tirade, he placed the jar next to me and turning in the opposite direction, stomped out of the room. 

A few minutes later, there was a light rapping at the door, and a woman’s voice asked, “Might I come in, Mistress Fraser?”

Sure why not? Everyone here at the inn knows he walloped me with his belt. It’s certainly no secret.

“I can come back a wee bit later if ye like.”

“No, it’s perfectly all right. Come in.” She was a woman, and I needed to vent to someone of my own sex. 

A grey-speckled head appeared at the open door. A grin and intelligent blue eyes accompanied the salt and pepper hair. “Jamie fetched me to see to ye. I’m the matron o’ this establishment. My name’s Lorna MacBride. I made that balm sittin’ beside ye. Heaven forbid that I should force my will on ye, but the balm is verra useful. It can take the ache right outta yer bones, and make the healing start op quicker than the shake o’ a lamb’s tail.” 

One of her eyebrow’s cocked. “So, d’ye mind if I apply some to ye?”

I sighed in resignation. What did I have to lose? My pride was already gone; there was nothing left but a badly bruised ego, and a tender derrière.

“Be my guest,” I replied.

. . . . .

At the first touch of the gel, I was amazed. It certainly was as soothing as the balm of Gilead. 

She hummed while she administered to me. “How does that feel now, Mistress?”

I huffed slightly. “You may call me Claire, seeing as you have intimate knowledge of my private parts.”

Lorna chuckled lightly, circling the bed to speak to me. “Ah, I can see ye have a wit ’bout ye. I ken ye have quite a temper as weel. We could hear ye clear out back at the stables, when ye were a’hollerin’ in yer distraught situation. I couldna imagine yellin’ such things at my husband, even when he tanned my hide.”

I sat up part way, resting on an elbow. “Do all the men here beat their wives?” 

“Weel, now, I wouldna put it that way. It’d be more like persuadin’ the woman to lend an ear to her spouse. Leastwise, I’ve no had the strap to my bottom since I was a new bride. I learnt to obey … right quick ye might say.”

She canted her head, and with a slight upturn of her lips, said, “Dinna judge your man too harshly. Jamie didna look too happy ’bout whalin’ on ye. Pitiful sight it was. I’ve known the lad since he was a wee tyke, and ne’r seen him hurt as much as a fly …” Winking at me, she continued, “… unless it was wearin’ a red coat. It wouldna e’er happened if Dougal and that nefarious lot hadna been here. ’tis plain as the nose on yer face as he’s verra much in love wi’ ye. He’s downstairs now, poor thing, swimmin’ ’bout in a bottle o’ whiskey to wash his sadness away.

“He told me how worrit he was ’bout ye. But … from what I’ve seen, he didna lash ye half agin as hard as he might. And ye’ve seen, I’m sure, how big and strong the man is. Ye’ve only a few welts here and there, and maybe a bruise or two.”

“That’s more than enough. If he loves me like you say, how could he do that to me?”

Her eyes rolled about in her head. “Oh, lass … it’s just the pride of the menfolk. They canna stand a woman who objects to their infallible orders.”

“Well, I won’t follow his orders like some mindless ewe. I’m perfectly capable of thinking for myself. He will not hold his omnipotent scepter over me.”

With her brow furrowed, Lorna remarked, “Have ye ne’r been strapped afore, then?”

“No, and I don’t mind informing you that I don’t intend to ever go through that humiliating experience again.”

“All right. Seems as though ye’ve made op yer mind about how yer marriage should be, and I wish ye luck wi’ that.”

She turned toward the door, ready to leave. “I best be goin’ now. Dougal and his pack o’ ruffians will be poundin’ their fists on the table, demandin’ more ale.”

I quickly grabbed the fabric of her skirt. “Wait … before you go, may I ask what you put in that ointment?”

“Aye. A trader from Edinburgh visits now and agin. He had this verra peculiar plant called, aloe, I believe it was. He said it grows in the western parts of America. It has fleshy stems liken to leather, and when ye break one open, this thick jelly squeezes out. I have some in my window box that maybe ye can root for yerself. Ye canna plant it in the cold highlands though. It needs lots of heat and light. It grows in the desert, ye ken.”

“Thank you, Mrs. MacBride. I would very much appreciate that. And thank you for your kind help.”

“’Twas no trouble atall. But, can I give ye some marital advice? Dinna hang onto yer anger for too long. It will only grow and fester, and eat at yer gizzard, making ye miserable. Ye need to forgive the lad, if ye dinna wanta see him takin’ to the spirits too often. Have pity on the poor sod. He only did what all the menfolk do. He didna know any other way. Maybe ye can teach him gentleness as it were.”

I thought he was a gentle soul, until he removed his belt. 

Placing a cup and the ewer of water on the night table, the woman touted, “I think ye best save some water for the night comin’ on. D’ye want me to take the rest o’ the food back to the kitchen, then?”

“Yes, please.”

Lorna clicked her tongue, and shaking her head, departed the room with the tray carefully balanced in her hands.

. . . . .

Jamie avoided my company until way past the rising of the moon just as I wished he would. I also hoped he had drunk himself into oblivion. When he entered through the doorway, however, he appeared to be as sober as a judge—drat him. I’d say that for him; he could hold his liquor. 

He stood there with that stupid smile on his face, and he was looking at me with those clear blue eyes, and that perfectly formed nose, and that strong jaw, and those warm lips. I wanted to kill him for looking so … so … scrumptiously edible. 

Not saying a word, he sat on the edge of the mattress; his fingers instinctively seeking my hand. I immediately recoiled, and pulled it out of his reach. I heard an exasperated breath of air escape his lungs and he stood, looking down at me. The smile was gone. He licked his lips, and gazing at the tiled floor, offered, “I came back to tell ye how sorry I am for whippin’ ye. I know it was wrong o’ me, but it was expected by the others, ye ken? I didna want them to think less o’ me … that I couldna control my own woman. I needed to keep Dougal away from ye as weel. Will ye no forgive me?”

“That I can do … in time, James Fraser. But don’t think that I’ll ever forget this.”

He nodded. “Aye. So … I was thinkin’ I would go back to the kitchen and fetch us a bit o’ bread and such.”

“No … I told you, I’m not going to eat.”

Jamie huffed in frustration. “I swear to god, woman! Are ye goin’ to starve yerself just to spite me? That doesna e’en make sense. What does eatin’ havta do wi’ gettin’ yer arse whipped?” 

“Nothing! That’s the point!”

His hand combed through his coppery tresses, and he shook his head in anger. “Stars and stones—ye’ve gotta be the most stubborn lass in the land. Maybe I shouldha beat ye harder. Yer husband did ye nay favor by sparin’ the rod.”

I sat up, even though it pained me to do so. “That’s right. He never laid a hand on me, unlike you—you bloody, Scotch bastard.”

“Oh … so now, it’s the bluidy, Scotch bastard, is it?”

He started pacing again. “I’ve ne’er met a woman wi’ such a bad temper.”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ—you’re just now figuring that out?”

His voice rose. “Next, ye’ll be tellin’ me that ye regret takin’ those vows in the kirk.”

My lips tightened, and then I hissed between clenched teeth, “Every minute of every day.”

“Ye’re my wife, Claire, in the eyes o’ the clan and the church.”

“It was a mistake … a huge, bloody mistake. Here, take back this ring!” I wrenched off the wedding band, and threw it at his feet.

A look of horror overcame his features. “So, it’s come down to this, then … I was foolish, thinkin’ I was in heaven these three days past. And now, a sad day it is to find the woman I marrit has no feelin’s for me atall.”

“That’s right. I was dead for three days, and now I’ve been resurrected.”

With a pained expression, he bent down and picked up the small metal circle, scrutinizing it for a few moments. Looking up at me piteously, he placed the ring in his sporran. In a quieter voice, he said, “It’s gettin’ late, Sassenach, and we’ll be needin’ our rest.”

Walking toward the bed, he stopped in shock as I stood, and stripped off one of the blankets, flinging it at him. “Oh no, you’re not. Did you really think you were getting in this bed with me?”

Jamie marched off to a corner of the room, and yanked off his boots, pitching them forcefully against the wall. He lay down, wrapping the blanket about him, muttering once again in Gaelic.


	3. A "Distant" Relationship

Chapter 3: A “Distant” Relationship

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander 

. . . . .

I woke up once during the night, feeling something light settling on me. The next morning it became clear that Jamie had decided I needed the blanket more than he did. I saw him curled up, lying with his back flush to the wall. His plaid was pulled up around him, and his body was shaking with the cold. He, being as stubborn as I was, would hardly accept my offer of the blanket, I realized, so I padded to the hearth and added several logs and kindling to the dying embers. The twigs caught fire quickly and soon a warm blaze was heating up the small room. Well, I couldn’t let him freeze to death, now could I?

Jamie stirred, moaning quietly in his sleep. I watched as he flipped himself over, his hand patting the area around him, probably looking for me. Fat chance, Romeo. I walked to the only chair in the room, and tried to sit down. It was sheer torture. I winced and sprang back up again, the sound waking up the plaid-shrouded hulk in the corner. He stretched, and sat up, then pulled on his boots. I blinked, and he was out the door without a word.

After filling the chamber pot, I washed up, and put my pillow down on the chair. I settled on it in a gingerly fashion; this time, it was a little less painful with the cushion beneath me. Jamie arrived with more food, while I let out a sigh of relief.

I shook my head as he offered the plate to me. “Sassenach,” he chastised. “Ye’ve gotta eat.”

“I don’t gotta do anything. Take it away!” I screamed at him.

“Yer gonna eat this if I havta shove it down yer gullet.”

He placed it on my lap, and I pushed the plate off in my pique. The crockery crashed to the floor, the dish now in slivered pieces, and the bannocks and honey a gooey mess spread out in a constellation of fragments.

I could see Jamie trembling slightly in his attempt to bridle his anger. He began to lean over to pick up the pieces when I yelled, “Leave it there. I don’t need your help. I’ll clean it.”

Standing from the chair, I took a step forward, and wavered. I grabbed the nearby night table to steady myself, and keep the room from spinning.

Jamie’s mouth dropped open. “Will ye look at yerself? Ye’re just ’bout to keel o’er in a dead faint from lack of victuals. D’ye want the clan to say as Jamie Fraser couldna provide food for his own wife?

“Stars and stones, ye best lie down now. I’ll fetch the matron to do the wipin’ op.”

I hated to admit it, but I was feeling rather woozy. I had a headache coming on too. I’d ask Mistress MacBride for some broth and tea before I passed out completely and fulfilled Jamie’s prophecy.

. . . . .

Lorna must’ve read my mind because she had a tray already prepared for me. She set the tray aside, and with hands on her hips, declared, “Now, lass, what’s all this foolishness? Eat op and be done wi’ it. Don’t let the ill feelin’s toward yer man, cause ye to neglect yer belly. Ye’ll be only hurtin’ yer fine self.”

She laughed when she looked down at the disaster sitting on the floor. “Oh, my … if I’d kent as ye were goin’ to set the crockery to flyin’, I’d’ve given ye my chipped dishes. Ah, weel, what’s doon is doon.”

Standing there, she put a hand in her apron pocket and pulled out some laces. “Jamie said ye might be needin’ this. I heard how yer own laces got sheared. That Captain Randall is a mean-spirited man, almost the devil himself. Ye were lucky as your husband came to fetch ye afore that beast had his way wi’ ye.”

With a brush of her hands, Lorna rolled up her sleeves and set to work on the sticky mess. “Weel, I’ll get to cleanin’ this op, and leave ye to yer breakfast.” 

. . . . .

Jamie spent most of the day either downstairs with his clansmen, or in the stables, tending to the horses. I stayed in the room, refusing to be ridiculed by that band of brigands. Their bawdy jokes disgusted me. Jamie never put a stop to it, even though he didn’t actually contribute anything. He didn’t ever tell stories like that, but I was assuming that he shied away from complaining on my behalf, so as not to cause any discontent among the men. 

That evening, Rupert and Angus pushed their way into my room, trying to persuade me to come with them and share a mug of ale. I sent them packing, and heard Angus say as they tramped down the stairs. “Aye. That one hasna forgiven Jamie yet. He marrit a shrew. What’s the poor lad to do?”

Well, what do you know? Angus wasn’t as obtuse as he looked.

My husband finally showed his face late that night. I had an extra blanket that Lorna so graciously gave me, and a pillow waiting for him. He resigned himself to once again sleep on the cold stone floor without a word of protest; not that I would’ve shown him any mercy. My heart held no pity for him whatsoever.

. . . . .

The distance between us continued for the next night, but when I got out of bed to relieve myself, I noticed the pillow and blanket were gone, along with Jamie. I opened the door and there he was sound asleep near the threshold. I went back to bed. What did I care about his sleeping arrangements? As long as it wasn’t with me, in my bed.

I broke the silent standoff for a discussion in the morning, asking why he was out in the hall.

He sat in the chair facing me. “I didna wanta be in the hall, Sassenach, but I couldna stand sleepin’ in the same room wi’ ye, knowin’ ye were in that bed, and I couldna touch ye. I waited ’til Dougal and the others had retired for the night, so they wouldna see as things are no right wi’ us. They’ve already made an opinion o’ ye … as ye stay in yer room all the day long. It’s addin’ logs to the fire, ye might say.”

Jamie suddenly leaned toward me, his clear blue eyes searching mine beseechingly. “Claire, I need to ask ye. D’ye mean to leave me, then?”

I sat on the edge of the mattress, my welts and bruises basically healed. “Where would I go? There’s nothing out there for a woman alone. And Captain Randall and his bloody redcoats would have me hauled away in a heartbeat. There’s your clansmen too … they’d put up a beastly fuss if we lived separately. 

“I won’t leave you, for appearances sake, but I will not be a wife to you. Do you understand my meaning?”

His head hung down as he answered, “Aye. Ye made it verra clear.”

. . . . .

Being a hermit was not much fun. Hardly a word passed between Jamie and me. My only other distraction was Lorna Mac Bride, when she came up to my room to ascertain my state of health. The maids though, didn’t seem to share the friendly attitude of their employer; no doubt they learned that I was putting my new groom through hell. I heard the girls in the halls some days, whispering among themselves in Gaelic. I didn’t give a fig what they said about me. Let their wagging tongues fall out of their empty heads.

. . . . .  
My self-imposed solitude started to wear on me after a few more days, and once again, I introduced myself to society, such as it was. I began coming out of the room, and eating at the table in the main dining area. The talk always seemed to reduce to a low buzz whenever I made my appearance on the staircase. It was just as well. The group gossiped about Jamie and me ever since the subject of our possible marriage was first addressed by Dougal. And people say women gossip?

Then one night, I was sleeping peacefully when I heard arguing outside in the corridor. Dougal had found Jamie, and was chastising him for sleeping in the hallway.

“Have ye no pride, man? Ye let the little wench beat ye down ’til yer nothin’? Ye canna let her wield that kind o’ power o’er ye. Be strong, Jamie. She needs to be told how it is. She’s the woman, and her duty is to her husband.”

“I’ll thank ye to stay outta this, Dougal. I’ll see to it in my own due time, and certainly no tonight. I’ll go back to sleep now, if ye dinna mind.”

Dougal’s footfalls disappeared down to his room, his words of advice still pouring out of his mouth and filling the passageway. 

. . . . .

Several days passed, and one afternoon, I was in our room, reading when I heard the stamp of boots near our door, followed by a couple of loud thumps on the wood panel. From the sound, I immediately realized it was not Jamie.

I opened the door and was surprised to see the clan’s warchief, Dougal himself, straight and tall, standing at the threshold. What did he want?

He did not look happy, and his words confirmed it. “We need to come to an understandin’, Sassenach.”

As if I didn’t know. “About what?” I tossed back at him.

His eyes were mere slits, and his jaw as taut as the head on a drum. “’Bout what ye’re doin’ to the boy. Are ye plannin’ to shackle him in a loveless marriage for the rest o’ his bairn days?”

“What transpires between Jamie and me is no concern of yours.”

“Aye, under any other circumstances it wouldna be, but the lad isna thinkin’ right in his head. He’s verra sick wi’ longin’ for ye, we’re afeared that he’ll be no much good if the watch or the redcoats come a’gunnin’ after us.”

I jiggled my head, and sneered. “That’s your problem.”

Dougal grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me. “That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ye. Now, ye’ll do right by Jamie, or I’ll thrash ye myself. And ye can be sure that ye’ll no be able to sit for more’n a fortnight when I’m through wi’ ye. Yer Jamie went too easy on ye, but I will no. Ye’ll learn yer place, and be more lovin’ to the boy.

“Now, I don’t expect to see yer husband hidin’ himself away with the horses, nor snoozin’ on the floor ouside yer doorstep, ye ken?” 

I was pushed away from him, roughly.

“Are you threatening me?”

“If ye will … I’ll give ye a week, and if Jamie doesna stop his mopin’ ’bout, I’ll be back with a strip o’ leather in my hand. Ye best have regard for yer marriage, wench, or leastways that fine arse o’ yers.”

He didn’t scare me one bit. I scowled back at him. “Jamie might have something to say about that. I’m his wife, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Then, be one, damn ye!” With that, he turned, and tromped down the stairs.

. . . . .

The nerve of that man. How dare he? I didn’t care that he was the warchief of the MacKenzies. What kind of man threatened another man’s wife, even if it was in name only?


	4. The Watch-ful Eyes

The Watch-ful Eyes 

 

I made it a point to let Dougal see that he wasn’t going to lord it over me. And so, the next few days continued as before. He glared at me every chance he got, and I glared back. Bloody, ignorant brute! I wondered what his marriage had been like. I shuddered to think what would have transpired if he had married me as I had originally thought. I probably would’ve been roughed up royally on my wedding night. At least Jamie didn’t force himself on me. Even without experience, he was a very thoughtful lover—well, ex- lover as the case may be.

One day, that week, I was busy washing my hair, when Jamie came bursting into the room. “Hurry, Sassenach, It’s the watch. They’re comin’ this way, and if they catch me, I’m a dead man.”

He shrugged into his jerkin, and buckled on his bandoleer. Grabbing his dirk, pistol, and broadsword, he fairly flew across the room. One arm reached out to me, clutching my waist, and we were out the door, my sopping wet hair leaving a trail of droplets on the floor.

. . . . .

We fled from the inn as fast as our legs could carry us. Leading the horses from the stable, I saw the watch as the riders came barreling over the ridge. One of them pointed at Jamie, who gave Dougal a desperate look, and shouted, “Keep her safe.”

With one, long, wistful glance at me, he mounted his animal, and spurring the stallion, took off at a gallop; Angus trailing not far behind. Dougal and our remaining company veered away from the two fugitives and took to the trees on the opposite side, riding at a good clip to put some distance between us and the watch.

It was that red mane of his … I almost wished they had hair dye here in this era. It would certainly shield Jamie from the eyes that were forever watchful. That Titian hair color was a dead giveaway that he was the outlaw they were keen on capturing. While it was true that I still harbored some feelings of resentment for my erstwhile connubial partner, I certainly didn’t wish for his demise.

Up until that horrendous incident, Jamie had been a sweet, doting man, and I couldn’t have asked for a better husband, excluding my Frank, of course. I enjoyed his quiet humor, his sense of decorum, but most of all, his unflagging devotion to me and his kinsmen. And if I really wanted to admit it, the man was gorgeous. Jamie’s physique was massive; he was built like a Greek god—a copper-headed Apollo.  
. . . . .

We rode for hours it seemed, through streams and woods, in and around the brush. If we followed a trail, it must’ve been invisible. I looked about; the terrain was foreign to me. These men had a sixth sense of the direction they were going, however. Dougal obviously knew where the hell we were, even if I did not.

Rupert pulled his horse up alongside mine, so I leaned over and asked, “How will Jamie and Angus find us?”

“Jamie?” Rupert laughed. I guess he found my question somehow amusing. “Dinna be worrit about the lad, we’ll all meet op at Ebenezer Bryce’s stone cottage, near the Ballachulish creek. He knows the place weel enough, to be sure.”

“But, it’ll be dark soon.”

“Aye, all the better. Ye see, the watch are no British troops. When the sun lowers in the sky, the men scurry home to their warm hearths, to sup and to bed their wives. They’ll no trouble us again tonight.” He smiled and winked at me. “They’re right lazy rascals.”

Well, that was a relief. I was getting more than tired, sitting in this uncomfortable, bloody saddle. I shifted my weight, and Rupert’s brow rose, a mischievous look erupting on his face. “Lucky for ye as it was awhile afore we had to ride in the saddle, aye?”

That was an understatement. My bruises had just recently faded a few days ago. 

Dougal rode on ahead, signaling the others to follow him. Rupert nodded to me. “We’ll be at the cottage afore nightfall, Sassenach.” He swerved his animal to the right, and took off after the warchief.

. . . . .

I don’t know why, but I expected the bungalow to be inhabited. I suppose it had been solicited by the MacKenzies as a hiding place from the redcoats, the watch, and any neighborhood, warring clans. The interior was coated in a thick layer of dust, and had weeds growing up through the chinks in the stone floor. Lovely … But at least it offered some shelter from a storm that was brewing outside. I hoped to high heavens that the roof didn’t leak. That would definitely put a damper on the evening.

 

I was graciously allowed the one bedroom, which boasted a small bed, a table, a chair, and fireplace. Some of Dougal’s men spread out their animal-hides on the floor, and others made claim to the area in the loft. 

It was getting bitter-cold; a snow flurry had started earlier, just as we approached the house. The wood piled on the hearth was dry, so Murtagh had a blaze going promptly and we sat nearby on the floor, eating a dinner of bread, cheese, and sliced apples—compliments of Rupert’s dirk. 

As the time passed, I got more worried about Jamie. What was taking him so long? Had he been captured after all? I tried not to think about it, but couldn’t understand the nonchalant attitude of his own kin. No one except for me seemed to be the least bit concerned about his absence. He and Angus were out there somewhere, slogging through this snow. I wanted to bean these men on their cocksure heads. 

It got later and later, and we all retired for the night after the fireplace in my room was putting out enough heat. Dougal actually saw to it. I guess he was keeping his word to Jamie. Finally, a chorus of roof-rattling snores came from the main room and loft. Despite the noise, I would have been able to sleep if I wasn’t so upset that Jamie hadn’t returned yet. 

I lay awake; my ears alerted to any little sound outside the cottage. Then it came … the unmistakable clip-clop of horses’ hooves. Racing to the window, I looked out, and there was Angus, walking toward the cabin, leading a horse by the reins, with Jamie slung across it, his head and feet hanging off on either side of the saddle. Oh my god, was he dead?

Murtagh stirred when I rushed into the room and opened the door. The blast of frigid air woke the rest of the sleeping Scotsmen, who were on their feet as soon as they spotted Angus. Two of the men slid Jamie from the saddle, and carried him inside, with Angus at their heels. 

“Put him on the mattress,” I directed them. I turned to Angus, as they carted Jamie’s limp form into the bedroom. “What happened? Was he shot?”

“Nay … ye ken, it was like this … The watch were gainin’ on us, op on the hill, and Jamie turned to see how close they were to catchin’ us. He didna see the tree branch ahead o’ him ’til it was too late to do anathin’ ’bout it. Knocked him straightaway off his horse, it did. He came down hard, and cracked his skull on a rock, just as sharp as ye please. The horse skittered off, and the watch trailed after it. I stayed with Jamie, but I couldna wake him op. The horse returned to us by and by, and the watch gave up the chase. I mean to tell ye; I had to make that animal kneel on the ground to get the likes of Jamie Fraser onto its back.”

I placed my hand over my chest, trying to catch my breath. “Thank you, Angus. I’m so glad you went with him. I can just imagine how this would have ended had you not been there.”

Then I inquired further. “You said he hit the back of his head?”

“Oh, aye. He had a bump that swelled op big as the egg o’ a goose, quite a bit o’ bleedin’ too.”

Crooking my finger at Murtagh and Rupert, I ordered, “I’ll need your help to turn him over so I can see to his injury.”

Jamie was out cold, and never twitched so much as a muscle as they rolled him onto his side. The back of his head was matted with dried blood, obscuring the wound. I looked to Rupert who was crouched down beside the bed, rolling his eyes. He didn’t need to ask what I wanted. Handing me his flask of whiskey, he muttered as I applied it to a clean cloth from my kit, and gently wiped away the congealed blood from my patient’s coppery tresses. There was a jagged gash still oozing, but luckily, the edges were aligned closely, so no stitches were needed. Angus’ assessment of the bump was right on target. Jamie would have a big headache when he woke up … if he woke up.

Looking over my shoulder, I peered at Rupert once again. “Can you get me some towels, and some water from the kitchen to clean off the rest of this blood?” 

Rupert hopped up quickly, and was back with the needed supplies in good time. After cleansing away the blood and debris, I had him lift Jamie’s neck and hold the corner of a cloth strip, while I bound it about Jamie’s head to secure a poultice of medicinal herbs, and form a pressure dressing to stop any further bleeding. 

“Murtagh, I need you and Rupert to flip him onto his back.” The two men executed my orders as I searched in my medicine box for spirits of hartshorn. Murtagh shrugged, and glanced at Rupert who shook his head as I poured a bit on a small square of fabric. 

“Okay, now, Jamie just might wake up suddenly, flailing about, so don’t go anywhere yet. Your muscles, gentlemen, are required at this moment.

“Can each of you take an arm? I don’t fancy being struck in the face.”

Grinning like a fool, Rupert flexed his less than bulging biceps. “Aye, lass. At yer service.”

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, despite the dire circumstances. There was a distinct possibility that this wouldn’t work … that Jamie would remain unconscious. I couldn’t give in to that kind of thinking though. Positive—think positive, Claire. It will work … it has to.

. . . . .

I passed the drenched square of inhalant beneath his nose, and just as I predicted, Jamie roused violently. His eyelids popped open wide, in a startled expression. “Huuuh … huh!” he sputtered. His head shook side to side, his arms straining against the men who were holding him steady, and his head lifting from the pillow. Dougal entered the room at that instant, looking down at the shuddering mass.

He bent down and patted Jamie’s arm. “It’s all right, Jamie. Ye’re amongst friends now.”

Well, that was debatable.

Jamie blinked rapidly, and the tension in his body relaxed. His human manacles released his arms, and he reached up, touching the bandage circling his head. “Where am I? How did I get here? Stars and stones—I canna remember what happened.”

“It seems you had an encounter with a belligerent tree branch,” I snapped.

“Huh … Sometimes, I canna understand what yer tryin’ to tell me, Sassenach.”

“That makes two of us,” I muttered under my breath. “It means you rode head first into an overlying branch, and once again fell off your horse. Then you plummeted down and thwacked your thick Scottish cranium on a bloody rock. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, why weren’t you paying attention to where you were going? That was reckless behavior. You could have very well killed yourself.” 

He actually smiled up at me, his clear blue eyes twinkling, and here I was, berating him for being such an imbecile.

My arms somehow folded across my chest. “What are you grinning at?”

“It’s good to hear ye talkin’ to my face, e’en tho’ ye’re scoldin’ me for bein’ an arse.”

I looked up at the ceiling and sighed, then stomped out of the room, amid the laughter of the hyenas surrounding the bed.


	5. The Very Impatient Patient

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns the rights to Outlander 

. . . . .

The men had their fun at my expense, and I couldn’t care less. Let them laugh. I waited until they exited the room, then I went back to see about my lump-headed husband. “Can I get you something for the pain?”

“Is no that painful.”

I watched, incredulous as he tried to sit up halfway. The color drained from his face, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Closing his eyes, he flopped back onto the pillow.

“Don’t give me that codswallop, Jamie Fraser.”

“There ye go agin with those verra peculiar words. Doesna mean somethin’ filthy, does it?”

“No … and don’t change the subject. Your buddies are all gone, so you don’t have to put up a brave front. Now, are you going to take something for that bump on your head or not?” 

“Will it make ye happy if I do?”

“Yes!”

“Ye ken, I’m only takin’ the medicine to see ye happy, lass.”

I retrieved my medicine container from the table, and removed a bottle of thebaic tincture. With a small spoon that was included in the kit, I poured out the liquid. Lifting his head up gently, I offered it to Jamie, who took it readily, then I pulled up the chair to his bedside.

“Why are ye sittin’ there like that, Sassenach?”

“I’m watching you to see that the tincture helps. Sometimes people are allergic to it.”

His brow furrowed. “Allergic?”

“You know … how people sneeze when they’re around hay, or get red, itchy blotches from sitting in the grass … that kind of thing.”

“Ah, I see.” 

I took his wrist in one hand and pressed two fingers on the other to his pulse. I explained, “That little throb in your wrist is your heartbeat. It tells me how well you’re feeling.”

“D’ye mean to say as ye ken for certain how healthy I am, just by puttin’ yer fingers to my wrist?”

“That’s what I’m saying. Now, close your eyes and go to sleep. I’ll stay here for a little while longer to make sure you’re going to be all right.” 

His eyelids began to droop about twenty minutes later, the drug weaving its magic. I left him to lay out my bedroll in the other room. I had just snuggled down to sleep, when I heard Jamie whisper, “Claire?” Then, a little louder, “Claire?”

I got up and went to him to see what he needed. “Ah … there’s mo nighean donn. Are ye no comin’ to bed?”

“I was just in my bed when you called for me.”

“I don’t think ye ken my meanin’.”

“I do; loud and clear. And my answer is no.”

“But ye’ve been talkin’ to me, so I thought …”

“You thought wrong, Jamie. I was only acting as your nurse. I’d do the same for anyone.”

His face crumpled. “Ye’ll ne’r let me touch ye e’er agin, then?” 

“No. I’m going back to sleep now. You should do the same.”

. . . . .

 

I woke with a start early the next morning when I heard a rustling of the bedding in the other room. I slipped into my shoes, not bothering to tie them and dashed through the doorway to find Jamie attempting to get out of bed.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s been nigh on eight hours since I last took me a piss. My belly canna hold my water for much longer.”

“Well, then let me help you.”

“I’ll no let ye help me for takin’ a damn piss. Been doin’ it on my own since I was a wee bairn.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You may get dizzy if you get up too fast or too soon.”

He waved me back. “I said, get outta my way, woman.”

Jamie shot out of the bed, and stood up, only to blanch as white as a sheet. He swayed precariously, ready to slump into a heap. Stepping forward, I tried to brace him to prevent the inevitable fall. A gasp escaped me, as stumbling backwards, he plopped onto the mattress with me atop him. 

His hands were immediately around my waist as I struggled to get up. I brushed them away. “Don’t …”

I pushed myself up, my palms against the mattress. It was just enough to glimpse the pained expression on his face. I closed my eyes to shut out the view.

Anxious to remove myself from this ludicrous predicament, I scrambled off of him, and raced out the door, yelling to any of the men who were awake. “Jamie needs help in there!”

. . . . .

The cheerful demeanor of my Scotsman was replaced with a gloomy one. If it was possible, he seemed even quieter and introspective than the last two weeks. I’d been dosing him regularly with the narcotic tincture, and wondered if that contributed to his state of mind. Unfortunately for me, Dougal apparently took notice.

The next evening, Jamie had recovered his land legs, and refused any more medicine. I had him sitting in a chair, facing away from me so I could examine his injury. I unwound the bandage from his head, and the laceration seemed to be healing nicely. I was able to leave the poultice off, and instead, smoothed some of the leftover balm that Lorna had given me. He never said a word, until I finished, and then nodding at me, and in a low voice, muttered, “Thank ye, Claire.”

I was out walking one afternoon, two days later, to dispel some of the bloody monotony, when the warchief came upon me. He was in my face immediately, with an ugly sneer on his lips. “I see ye’ve no changed yer attitude toward the lad. I warned ye, but ye took nay care to consider it, Sassenach. And now, ye’ve forced me to keep my promise to ye … heartless wench.” 

He reached for his belt buckle, as I backed up; my head rotating like the lamp in a lighthouse, searching for an escape route. I spotted someone, possibly Murtagh, in the distance running to the stable. Did he see us?

I turned to my left, and Dougal immediately corrected for it, blocking me. I stepped to the right, and fared the same. It was no use. He knew he had me; I couldn’t get away. I tried to make a run for it, but he spun me around and pushed me ahead of him, backing me into a wattle fence.

It was fruitless to scream for help. No one would hear me, and I doubted if anyone would dare to pit themselves against the murderous thug. He was their unopposed leader.

There was no space between us now; the warchief had me pinned to the rail. My breath was coming in short gasps; my heart thrumming like a bird. This was a nightmare. I’d gone through a whipping once already, and Dougal appeared to be doubly capable of applying the strap.

He unbuckled his belt, and grasping it, shook it in his hand, in a menacing manner. “Now, where d’ye want the strokes, lassie, on yer hind end or yer face … makes nay difference to me.”

I scowled bravely. “Big man … is that how you get your warriors to follow you … beating them into submission?”

“Ye’ve a sharp tongue on ye. But ye’ll be whimperin’ for mercy soon enough.”

Dougal swung the belt at me, hitting my shoulder. “Turn yerself around, if ye wanta keep that pretty face.”

Closing my eyes, I pivoted toward the fence, but all at once heard footsteps, and a voice saying, “I’ll thank ye to leave off. That’s my woman ye’re about to lay that strap to, and I willna be takin’ too kindly to it. I mean ye no disrespect, Dougal, but I told ye I would see to the problem at hand myself. Now, if ye please, we’ll be on our way.” 

Dougal waved a finger at Jamie. “Ye’re too easy on the wench, laddie. Ye’ve got yer heart where yer brain should be.”

“Aye, true as that may be, I like it that way.”

He put out his hand. “Come wi’ me, Claire. We’ll go op to the house t’gether.”

I didn’t dare refuse him now, in fear that Dougal would challenge Jamie. The rumor was that he wanted Jamie out of the way, so he could step into the position of Laird of Leoch after the day of Colum’s death. I wouldn’t put it past him if he hurried that day along. I’d have to keep a close eye on my herbs and tinctures. With everyone’s suspicions, I’d be the one held responsible.

Taking his hand gratefully, I felt his grip strong and sure. We strolled off to the house, never looking back. I only hoped that this incident wouldn’t stir up any more animosity between the two of them.

Jamie glanced at me, as he walked, breathing heavily. “If he’d laid that strap on ye, I swear to god, I would’ve drawn my sword, and it would take all o’ the clan to stop me.”

I halted, mid-step, and peering at Jamie, said, “What will he do to you for challenging his authority?”

“He canna do anathin’; Murtagh was a witness. He’d havta kill us all to quiet our tongues. Leastways, I was only protectin’ the honor o’ my woman.”

There was no sense in escalating the war between Jamie and Dougal, so I didn’t correct his assumption that Dougal’s belt never touched me. If he found out that I had in fact been lashed once, no telling what would have occurred. 

“You did protect my honor, Jamie. Thank you. From now on, I’ll not venture out alone. It seems I’m surrounded on all sides by enemies—the Scots and the English both hate me.”

“No all the Scots,” he muttered.

An awkward silence descended, until I inquired, “How’s your head feeling? Any aching or dizziness?”

“No. Ye did a right fine job o’ pluggin’ op the leak, and it doesna hurt anamore.”

I smiled and nodded. “Good, I’m glad.”

He appeared stunned. “Truly?”

“Well, of course. I didn’t wish you to be in any pain.”

The light in his eyes was suddenly extinguished, and his hand released mine.

. . . . .

How many more times would Jamie put his life on the line for me. More and more, I was beginning to regret my behavior toward him, but how could I possibly back down now? He’d never believe me ever again when I threatened to do … whatever.

I gazed at Jamie for a full minute, and my heart softened. The occasion that initially fueled my grudge was rapidly fading to a distant memory.

Jamie escorted me to our room, and I swallowed nervously. What could I say to him to patch things between us? It soon became a moot point as Jamie remarked, “I must leave ye now. Angus and I are on watch for redcoat patrols, ye ken.”

Sighing, I glanced at the floor. “Always on the lookout, I suppose.”

“Aye, we canna allow them to find this place with us traipsin’ ’bout.”

. . . . .

At the crack of dawn the following day, there was a commotion out in the main room, and a fist thumping against my door. “Get yer belongins t’gether, and be quick ’bout it if ye dinna wanta meet op with Randall agin. They’re just a few miles down the road.”

Dougal spit out orders to douse the fires, and pick up any traces of our sojourn here. Jamie raced into the room, and scooped up his weapons and my medical kit, taking them out to secure them on the horses. I’d never seen men move so fast and efficiently in my life.

Once again, we were on the road to who knows where. This time, we rode for more than twelve hours, stopping only to eat a bit, and to relieve ourselves. Bone-tired, I was ecstatic when Dougal finally reined his horse in, and declared we’d set up camp for the night.

As promised, for the sake of appearances—even though Dougal knew otherwise—I spread out the hides for Jamie and me, keeping our two blankets separate.

After eating, I lay down with Jamie beside me, and fell asleep almost instantly. Sometime during the night, I awoke to find him gone. Now what?


	6. Remorse and Repentance

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander 

. . . . .

I sat up, looking about to get my bearings. The men in camp were all sawing logs as the saying goes, but why wasn’t Jamie? He’d been up all night long, on a reconnaissance mission and still in the saddle all day. He had to be worn out. 

I wrapped both covers around me. Chances are, that when I found him, he wouldn’t be dressed for the cold, stubborn man that he was. I’d be prepared with the extra blankets just in case. 

The moon was full that evening, and I easily spotted a hint of that titian hair in the incandescence of the moon’s glow. I walked forward, then halted in my tracks. He was sitting on the ground with his knees drawn up, and sobbing as if his heart would break. It was clear to me why he was so distraught, and I suddenly felt ashamed. I’d finally broken him, but I felt no joy or satisfaction, only remorse. How could I have been so cruel? He only did what he was taught by his elders. After all, this was not the 20th century, and I had no right to judge him by more modern standards.

I decided to call out to him. It wouldn’t do to barge in on him while he was crying. He had his pride, and I would grant him that.

“Jamie?”

I heard him suck in a hurried gulp of air.

“Aye.”

I moved into the clearing. “Is it all right if I sit with you awhile?”

He turned his head and wiped the tears off his face with his sleeve. His breath hitched a few times before he could answer, and then in a strained voice, said, “If ye like.”

I sat close to him, and extended the fabric of the blanket to him, encircling his broad shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“No, Claire.”

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I am.

Facing me, he hesitated for a moment, and said, “Ye canna see the hurt, but it’s there all the same, inside o’ me.” He took in a sharp breath and continued. “I know I whipped ye, and I’m verra sorry for that, but have the bruises no faded away?

“My hurt never stops, Sassenach; my heart … it’s broken to pieces, and it’s achin’ and bleedin’ all the day long. Medicine nor poultice can fix it.”

Jamie shook his head, and continued, “I was so happy when Dougal said as we should be marrit. I loved ye so, since that first time I laid eyes on ye, knowin’ it was wrong … ye bein’ marrit and all. I couldna help myself; ye were the most beautiful creature I e’er did see. From that day on, ye were all I was thinkin’ ’bout. When ye told me as yer husband was no longer alive, I felt my heart leap ’bout in my chest. It was nay secret that ye didna hold the same feelin’s, and didna wannta marry me, but it seemed as in those three days, ye came to love me as weel. If only ye hadna run away, and disobeyed me …” 

He stared into space as he talked. “I’m twenty and three years old, and I ne’er so much as had a warm body share my bed. After bein’ wi’ ye in that way, I canna stand to sleep alone. I miss ye … I miss hearin’ yer voice, seein’ yer smilin’ face, touchin’ ye, feelin’ yer touch, and layin’ wi’ ye. I wanta die for want o’ ye … god help me, but I do.

“I made an oath to ye that day in the kirk. And I pledged to protect ye with my own body, but it makes me suffer so, to see ye, knowin’ as what we had isna more. My heart cries out to ye, but for an answer, there is none. If I canna have ye, then I should go and ne’er look back. But the truth o’ it is, I love ye still, and it would kill me sure as a bullet to my chest to leave ... to ne’er see ye agin. Ye’re verra dear to me … I couldna love another lass the way I love ye, and that’s the gist o’ it.” 

My heart, for so long a stone, melted at his words. I threw off the blankets and knelt beside him, my arms winding about his neck. “Oh, Jamie …” I cried.

His response was unexpected. He grabbed my hands, pulling them away from his neck. I heard him swallow thickly, and caught a glimpse of his eyes, wet with tears. “I’ll no accept yer pity. It’s a shameful thing to find yer man wallowin’ in sorrow for what he canna have. Go back to the others, and leave me here, Sassenach.”

I searched his eyes, urging him to see the sincerity housed in mine. “It’s not pity I feel for you. I miss you too. I’m a stubborn fool for holding a grudge all this time. Those days we spent together after our wedding were some of the most precious I’ve ever experienced. Your joy was contagious; it filled the very air I breathed and warmed my soul.

“I love you, Jamie. Are you listening to me?”

Furrowing his brow, he said, “Truly? Ye’re sayin’ as ye do love me then?”

“Yes, I do.”

I kissed him sweetly and undid the fastenings of my corset. Then, taking his hand, I laid it upon my breast. The expression on his face was one of skepticism, but what followed next negated all of that. “Claire …” he murmured; his voice cracking, “… Mo nighean donn.” Instantly, he was on fire, as his mouth hungrily devoured mine.

My hands roamed through his copper curls, and I kissed every inch of his face, his throat, his ears. He flung the blankets to the ground, and grabbing me by the waist, drew me down beside him onto it. It was indescribable what the stroke of his fingers did to the skin on my body. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted and needed his touch. I was a rekindled flame, newly born, and ready to face whatever life held for me. I pulled on one of the blankets to cover us, as we physically loved each other in our own private woodland, in the middle of the night, under the light of a Scottish moon.

. . . . .

Jamie held onto me all during the night, one arm draped across my shoulder, his leg sprawled over mine, his chin tucked into the crook of my neck. Even in the cold, my Jamie was like a radiator, his heat warming me to the bone. When the sun began to rise, he ran his nose along the length of my neck, and whispered, “Claire, if ye do no mind, can I take ye agin? It’s been a verra long time, and I’m achin’ for ye so.”

He released his hold on me, and I rolled onto my side to face him. Without saying a word, I let my hands do the speaking for me.

After our second amorous encounter, we fell asleep once more, the noise of the others waking us a couple of hours later. We donned our clothes and had just grabbed up the blankets, when Jamie suddenly gestured for me to stand still. “Sassenach, afore we go back, I have somethin’ to give ye.” He knelt before me and reached into his sporran. “It’s no as fancy or costly as yer other, but it comes from my heart. Give me yer hand, Claire.”

I stretched out my left hand, and Jamie returned my wedding band to my ring finger. He kissed my knuckle and looked up at me, smiling. “There, now, ye’er my wife agin.”

“And you’re my husband.”

“Aye, truly spoken.”

. . . . .

I had planned on sneaking back to the campsite, but all the men were up, and it was obvious as to what we had been actively engaged in, so what was the point?

Hand in hand, we sauntered to the campsite. Jamie had a big, cat-that-ate-the-canary smile pasted on his face. I, on the other hand, was feeling the heat of crimson creeping along my cheeks, affirming the oft-used phrase … the blushing bride. 

Dougal—damn him—gave Jamie a look of satisfaction, while Angus wiggled his brows, and jabbed Rupert in the ribs with his elbow. Young Willy shrugged, and the rest snickered. So much for privacy …

. . . . .

We stayed ensconced at camp for the whole day, thank the lord. The men hunted, and scoured the creek, bringing back several rabbits, and a few fish. I scavenged some late blooming berries and some edible roots. 

Jamie and I talked that night, sitting apart from the rest of the crew, familiarizing ourselves with each other again. My hands were busy rubbing against his, over and over. The men were all telling their lewd jokes—in Gaelic, as usual—around the campfire. No doubt, a lot of it centered on my clandestine meeting with Jamie the night before. He looked up every once in a while, smiling and nodding, then he’d pull me closer and kiss me, eliciting a roar of laughter from the men. 

“I’m certainly glad you don’t join in with their sordid display,” I told him.

“Aye. I didna have any stories to tell afore I married ye, and now as I am, isna any o’ their business. I wilna dishonor ye in that fashion.” He winked in his funny way, leaned toward me conspiratorially, and commented in a storytelling voice, “I like to keep ye all to myself, ye ken. They’re jealous fools is all, and rightly so.” 

“Thank you.” I turned toward the brutes, and waved, getting their attention. Then I grabbed Jamie by the hair and proceeded to give him a mouthful of me, nearly knocking him to the ground. That set the camp into a raucous commotion.

Angus pointed in our direction. “She’s a feisty lass, that one.” 

Another Scotsman clapped him on the back. “Aye, ye got that right on the nose.”

Jamie waved them away, “Can ye no leave us be? Have none o’ ye ever been newly wed?”

“Not to a feisty lass like the Sassenach,” Rupert exclaimed. 

Grinning to beat the band, Jamie retorted, “Aye, and lucky I am to have her.” 

. . . . .

While the crew all retired to sleep, Jamie and I lay together on our pallet and continued talking. “Lorna told me as ye’d ne’er been strapped afore. Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s true. Where I come from, a man is considered a coward if he was to raise his hand to a woman. And if it came before a judge, the man would be imprisoned.” 

Jamie looked confused. “But how d’they get their women to obey them?”

“The husband and wife work together in a loving relationship. They talk about their problems and come to an understanding. If you love someone, you don’t give her orders. You ask for her opinion, and work it out between you.”

He began chewing on his bottom lip. “Ah … I wish it was like that here in the highlands.” 

He pushed himself up and leaned his cheek on one hand. “Claire, ye know I willna e’er lay a strap to ye agin. I want ye to love me always. I promise ye, on my mother’s grave. I canna live wi’out ye. Will ye promise to stay wi’ me, now and forever?”

“Aye, I will.”

Jamie cocked an eyebrow. “Och … ye seem to be takin’ on a wee bit o’ a Scottish brogue there.”

Jiggling my head, I teased, “That’s what comes of traipsing about the countryside with a gang of Scotsmen. It was bound to rub off on me sooner or later, ye ken?”

Jamie laughed so hard, that I put a finger to my lips. “Shh! You’ll wake everyone up. What’s so funny anyway?”

“It was the look on yer face when ye said it.” With that, he broke into laughter again.

Dougal sat up from his pallet, and yelled, “Jamie Fraser, I’ll thank ye to keep yer damn voice down. Give yer wench a good poke, and be doon wi’ it, and leave us to our rest.”

Jamie spouted back at him, “Is that an order?”

“Bah! Go to sleep then.”

“How can I, when ye willna quit yer shoutin’ at me?”

Giggling at the two of them, I snuggled into Jamie, my head pillowed on his chest. I felt his gentle fingers threading through my hair as I drifted off.


	7. A Sudden Skirmish

Chapter 7: A Sudden Skirmish

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander Banner by LOS

. . . . .

In the following weeks, we traveled from place to place, always on the lookout for those bloody red coats, and the Black watch. It was a horrendous way to live, but at least I had my Jamie constantly at my side.

Now that we had reconciled, I slowly came to admire him. He possessed a calm disposition—always so matter of fact, except when the situation demanded more. I felt secure whenever he was with me. He’d already risked his own personal safety, not once, but three times to save my life and my honor, and I dare say he would gladly do it again, any time the need arose.

I found myself comparing him to my former husband. Poor Frank … since returning from the war, he seemed reticent to initiate any physical contact between us. On the other hand, Jamie was a force of nature. It was like being caught in a whirlwind, but willingly succumbing to its power—even to the point of embracing it.

Jamie was a born storyteller and a poet at heart. His words of love were purely drawn from somewhere deep in his soul, and he plucked them out whenever the occasion called for it. They were never sappy or contrived—a line if you will—but a sincere declaration directly from his heart. If I had been younger, and more naïve, I would venture to say they would nearly reduce me to a fit of swooning. The man was well equipped with an unending supply of Cupid’s darts, and his aim was straight and true.

 

It was with shame that I realized my memories of Frank were becoming dimmer; overshadowed by the love I felt for Jamie. I hoped that he could move on without me, because, in all honesty, I couldn’t leave my bonny Scotsman—not now. With the dawn of each day, he became that much dearer to me. He was firmly rooted in my heart, in the deepest depths, and to leave him would destroy any will I possessed to live.

. . . . .

 

The men probably wondered what on earth we could possibly find to talk about every day. The truth was, we enjoyed each other’s company, and I could listen to Jamie for hours. We would sit apart from the rest, and exchange the thoughts running through our heads.

One time, we sat quietly at day’s end, on a moss covered log, a plate between us, laden with bread, roasted rabbit and cheese. I broke off a piece of the bread and placed it on Jamie’s tongue. The words all at once, began to tumble from my mouth. “The day on which your bloody warchief told me I was to be married, I thought he meant to him! When I asked Dougal to clarify his statement, he blared, No, Sassenach. I wouldna like to lock horns wi’ ye from sun op ’til sundoon. I need my strength to fight the redcoats—or something to that effect. 

Jamie finished chewing the scrap and swallowed. “Ah, so he supposed ye’d do a might better to wed someone wi’ a less fiery temperament then, aye?”

I chuckled. “Yes, and even though I didn’t want to get married, if I was forced into it, then I was glad my groom turned out to be you.”

There was a smile in his bright blue eyes, as he tenderly grazed the side of my face with the back of his hand. “Nay more glad than I was … to be yer groom. Did ye ken as I was in love wi’ ye e’en afore the ceremony?”

“I didn’t know … I saw you and Loaghaire together one evening, and thought you and she were an item.”

His eyes narrowed. “An item ye say?”

“A couple … girlfriend and boyfriend.”

His face alighted with comprehension. “Ah …

“Weel, would ye like to ken why I kissed her that night then?”

Rolling my eyes about, I countered with, “I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“Nay … isna obvious atall. I was wantin’ to see if ye’d get jealous.” 

I’m sure I must’ve blushed scarlet when I admitted, “I did.” 

His mouth upturned in a satisfied smirk. “Did ye, now?’

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” With that, he crooked his arm about my neck to bring my head closer and met my lips in a lingering kiss.

. . . . .

With the food all gone, I ventured into a more intimate subject. “Can I ask you something? And be serious now.”

“I make ye nay promises,” he retorted, laughing.

“Before you were coerced into this marriage, did you plan on having a family?”

Jamie’s expression changed; a far-off look in his eyes. “Aye, at one time, I did … but I can see it bein’ hard on a bairn when the father has a price on his head.” 

He turned his gaze to me once more. “I ken what yer tryin’ to say, Sassenach. Geillis told me ye canna have children. If the Lord blesses me to get ye wi’ child, then so be it. But it makes no difference to me, I love ye just the same, children or no.” 

I put my head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jamie.”

“Nay, lass. Ye need no be sorry. It’ll be all right. I love ye, and that’s enough for me.” He held me to his chest, his fingers lightly stroking my back.

. . . . .

For the next several days, the men went out in threes, beating the bushes for any sign of enemies in the area, British or otherwise. We were safe for the time being. The moss covered log in the meantime became a laughing place, for Jamie and me. And one night, in particular, it became a laughing place for everyone.

The weather had turned impossibly colder, and even with my overcoat, I was shivering. Jamie, bless his heart, wrapped his wool tartan around us. He looked up into my eyes, and said, “Ye’re so beautiful, Sassenach. Just the sight o’ ye makes me tremble wi’ want. So much so, I’m apt to shive ye right here on this log.”

“In front of all your relatives?”

“Nay … look behind ye, lass. It willna take me verra long, and there’s a good bit o’ soft moss … leaves and such. They’d make a fine cushion, for that bonny arse of yers.”

“Are you insane? You’ll do no such thing.”

His grin widened. “And who’s to stop me?”

“Jamie Fraser! You’re becoming as crude as your bloody counterparts.” I shoved him, and he lost his balance. Unfortunately for me, he grabbed my arm to steady himself, and we both tumbled backward over the log.

Jamie’s assumption was correct; the forest debris was spongy and thick enough that only our pride had been hurt. Our audience erupted into laughter and applause. We poked our heads up above our recent perch in embarrassment. As we walked around to seat ourselves once more, I caught my foot on a loose stone, stumbling, and Jamie had to prevent my fall, by sweeping me up in his arms. And the crowd went wild.

Jamie touted. “That’s enough, lads. The show’s o’er.”

Rupert winked at Jamie. “Are ye sure ’bout that? Doesna look it from where I’m standin’.”

I pinched Jamie’s cheek, to reclaim his attention. “When you’re quite finished …”

Bobbing noses with me, Jamie answered, “But there’s the rub. Ye see, I’m no quite finished … no yet, and I best finish my work, aye? Ne’er be it said that Jamie Fraser left a job undoon.”

Jamie trotted to our pallet, plunked me down, and threw the blankets over us, covering us from the crown of our heads to the heels of our feet. I was mortified.

Pulling the covers down off our faces a minute later, Jamie said, “Just a bit o’ a joke.”

I overheard quite a few disgruntled sounds, now that their entertainment was cut short. I thumped my idiot husband with a pillow in revenge, but his ensuing barrage of kisses appeased my wrath, and after the rest of the men began snoring, I was once more undoon by my Scottish seducer. 

. . . . .

On waking up the next morning, I found Jamie with a look of guilt in his eyes. His hand reached for a tendril of my hair, winding it about his index finger. “Can I ask ye somethin’, Claire?”

I sat up. “What is it?”

“Ye’re no mad at me for that wee joke last night, are ye?”

Gazing down at him, I answered, “Not mad, just a little embarrassed. I couldn’t believe my sweet husband was becoming like all the rest of the men. I thought you were better than that—with more integrity.”

“Aye. I see now as it was wrong. I promise ye, Sassenach. I willna e’er embarrass ye like that agin. I want ye always to be proud o’ me.

“Am I forgiven then?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

. . . . .

 

Our respite was cut short two days later when young Willy and Angus came barreling into camp to warn us—the redcoats were only three miles away.

We were on the run—tout de suite, and surprisingly we were again riding to the Bryce cottage. Dougal explained, “The Brits have already routed us from the place, wouldna we be crazy to return? They’ll ne’er think to search there agin.”

I guess his rationale was sound, but when we arrived, there were horses stabled nearby, and wispy, grey curls rising from the chimney. It didn’t take long for the squatters to sense our presence, and they raced out the door, trying to escape. 

What followed was utter chaos; everything happened so fast as to make my head spin.

The crack of gunfire filled the air; the horses shying this way and that. A bullet whistled by my ear, missing me by inches. Jamie skirted around me, he and his horse shielding me from the flying projectiles, all the while firing back at the brigands.

One of the gunmen shot the horse right from underneath Murtagh, and the beast crumpled to the ground, its rider rolling off quickly to avoid being crushed under its weight.

Our enemies were outnumbered two to one, and within minutes, there were three corpses lying in the snow, their blood staining it red. Apparently, they had very little ammunition, and so the skirmish lasted just a few scant minutes, and miraculously, none of us were harmed in the melee.

When my racing heart returned to normal, I noticed that these soldiers seemed different; their uniforms dirty, in need of mending, their general appearance unkempt. 

Rupert spit on the ground in disgust. “Deserters,” he said in a derogatory tone. As much as the Scots hated the British soldiers, they absolutely despised anyone who would turn their back on their own country. 

Angus dismounted, and kicked at one of the dead, presumably to make sure that he was. “Filthy turncoats!” He looked up at Dougal for direction. “D’ye want the uniforms stripped from these buggers?” 

“Aye, but we’ll no be burnin’ them. They might come in handy someday. Now, take a good look ’round inside, we want nay more surprises from the likes of these murderin’ bastards.”

Murtagh was muttering Gaelic curses, all the while, shaking his head and looking at his fallen mount, which was whinnying pitifully. He was aggravated beyond belief. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, another good steed shot to hell.” He pressed his weapon to the animal’s head, and pulling the trigger, put it out of its misery.

Jamie jumped from his horse, running to help me down off my saddle. “Are ye all right, Sassenach?”

His arms wound tightly about me, and his lips traveled over my throat, and up my jaw, his breathing heavy and furious. “I’m fine,” I stated matter of factly, but when he walked me into the newly secured house, I suddenly felt weak, and began to tremble uncontrollably. 

I couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Jamie latched onto me, carrying me into the bedroom. He set me down on the bed, then sat himself on the edge of the mattress, drawing me onto his lap. I buried my face into his shoulder, trying to blot out the scene from my mind. It was useless; it played over and over, imbuing my brain with the grisly sight like a broken record.

I’d seen some hair-raising things during the war—men screaming in pain, blood dripping from lacerations wide as rivers, entrails protruding from abdomens, but it was always behind the fortification of a field hospital, never in the midst of an actual battle.

I clung to Jamie for comfort, hoping the strength of his body would somehow sustain me. It took several minutes to finally release my tenacious hold on him. His hand continued to pat my back, his mouth running along my neck, kissing me a million times over. 

My voice quavered as I said, “Don’t let me go, Jamie. Please don’t.”

He answered reassuringly, “I willna let ye go. I got ye, Claire, I got ye.”

. . . . .

Jamie never left my side for the remainder of the day and was adhered to me for the whole night.

My Scotsman kissed me awake the following morning, and I took that opportunity to blurt out an apology. “I feel like such a coward for falling apart like that yesterday.”

“Nay, Sassenach, it was yer first time in the thick o’ it, and I ken why ye got so scairt. It was verra upsettin’. Me and the lads are used to guns and swords and such. Ye’re a woman, and we didna expect ye to join in the battle wi’ us. Ye shouldna be worrit ’bout it, for it’s our duty to protect ye, as ye canna protect yerself.”

I sniffled and held him close, until he remarked, “Up wi’ ye, and meet the new dawn. Let’s fill our bellies, and get on wi’ it, aye?”

Get on with it? My life was a shambles. The only stabilizing force was my dear, sweet Jamie. What would I do if he should ever die? I left Frank behind, but if I lost my beloved Scotsman too, what would there be to live for?


	8. An Indecent Proposal

Chapter 8: An Indecent Proposal

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander 

. . . . .

I was reasonably calm all that day, puttering about. The silver lining to all of this was the deserters had a cache of food stored in the kitchen, along with firewood and kindling. Then there were also the remaining horses in the stable. Murtagh had his pick of the litter. However, with his bad luck, maybe he should’ve chosen two of them.

Despite the peaceful atmosphere of the subsequent weeks, I missed the work in my surgery suite, the patients coming in and out, and the gathering of herbs for my distillations and powders.

I hated being idle. The men did all the cooking, and frequent hunting, leaving only the organizing and cleaning to me. Luckily I had nothing to do with burying the dead, neither human nor equine.

That’s not to say I was totally bored, for I did enjoy the company of my amorous Scotsman, and we stayed sequestered behind closed doors more times than I could count; the rhythmic thumping of the mattress against the wooden supports blaringly evident of our joining. There could be no doubt in Dougal’s mind that his nephew was in my good graces and welcome in my bed once more. 

At one time, Jamie had commented, “When does it stop—the wantin’?”

I had no answer to that question, because truthfully, I craved his touch, his words of love and his unbridled joy each and every time he took me. His overwhelming exuberance never seemed to diminish one iota, and filled me with such happiness, knowing that I was the cause of that joy. It was one of his most endearing qualities—his open heart, and his sincerity. The man was without guile.

. . . . .

One night after we made love, Jamie was unusually quiet. He tipped my chin up toward him as we faced each other. His eyes searched mine, and speaking in a low voice, he said, “I told ye once, lass, how I loved ye e’en afore ye became my wife—that day when ye patched the hole in my shoulder to be exact. When ye gave me yer hand, I reached out and touchin’ it, gave ye my heart in return. E’en afore that, wi’ ye slipping the bone in my arm back to its rightful place, I knew as there was somethin’ special ’bout ye, leastways to me.”

He sighed, and was silent for a moment, trying to arrange his thoughts properly, I suppose. “And I was wonderin’ …”

Anxious to hear what he had to say, I coaxed, “Out with it.”

“Weel … when did ye come to know for certain that ye shared the same feeelin’s?”

I smiled at my suddenly shy husband, brushing a stray curl back from his forehead. “Oh … I can’t really pinpoint a specific occasion. It crept up on me bit by bit, initially. You were always so cordial, and had this easy-going manner about you. I can honestly say that I liked you then. I must confess though, when you came after me the first time I ran away, I didn’t think of you very fondly at all.”

“Aye. It was plain as the nose on yer face. I thought I would havta sling ye o’er my shoulder like a sack o’ barley, and carry ye back to my horse. Ye were so stubborn.”

“You should talk, Scotty! I distinctly remember you falling off your horse because you were too proud to admit you were injured.”

“Och … did ye just call me, Scotty?”

“What of it? If the kilt fits … It’s only fair. You and the others all call me, Sassenach.” He looked bewildered, so I canted my head, and asked, “Would you rather I called you, Kilty?”

His mouth formed a horrified O. “Scotty it’ is, then.”

Waiting for him to continue, I finally said, “Well?”

“Ah … so ye wanta ken why I asked ye.”

“Yes. You know I love you now, so why does it matter that much to you?”

The man actually blushed clear up to the roots of his hair, and he averted his eyes. “I … I like hearin’ ye say it—that ye love me. It makes my heart sing for gladness. And when ye lay your soft palm on my cheek, or touch my lips when ye say it, my insides tumble ’bout, and I feel all weak wi’ love for ye.”

Furrowing his brow, and narrowing his eyes, he confessed, “It’s different from wantin’ ye. It’s like a tender feeling I ne’er felt afore. I just wanta hold onto ye and ne’er let go. But I havta ken what I did to make ye love me, so I willna change those feelin’s.”

I nodded and looked deep within my being to answer Jamie in a way that would satisfy him. “When I come down to it, I guess it dawned on me when you told Dougal that you agreed to marry me. It was so selfless; marrying someone who you barely knew. Then on our wedding night, you told me the three conditions that you demanded. You respected me so much that you did everything in your power to make sure that the wedding was proper, when you could have just had some local magistrate marry us in a tavern, while we were dressed in our old ratty clothes, and you holding a cigar band between your fingers.”

He raised one eyebrow. “A cigar band?”

A small chuckle escaped my lips. “Never mind.

“You went all out—looking forward to the wedding, and there I was, lying in bed the morning of, totally pissed from the night before, with the mother of all hangovers. My memories of the ceremony are shady at best. I was ashamed when you told me that you remembered every little detail … every word that was spoken, every expression on my face, every touch of my hand.”

Taking his sweet face between both of my palms, I continued, “Then, when the time came to make the marriage official, I was surprised that you didn’t in some way hoot in triumph. Instead, you were elated with so much innocent … joyfulness. That’s the moment I realized how much you meant to me; that maybe this marriage wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

His blue eyes were moist with tears. “Thank ye, Sassenach, truly.”

We both leaned toward each other until our lips met, and I felt that warm, tender emotion which Jamie so succinctly had described mere minutes ago. 

. . . . .

It was a little after dawn when Dougal pounded on our door. Then, opening it, he popped his head into the room, and brayed, “Jamie, get yer arse outta bed, and make yerself scarce. Rupert’s back, and says the Watch are up early t’day and headin’ in this direction.”

Jamie let loose of me, and scrambled out from under the blankets, dressing quickly. He grabbed his battle gear, left a kiss on my forehead, and raced out to the stable. I went to the window and watched as he talked to Rupert, then mounted his animal. I yelled to him, “Jamie, be careful!” He waved to me and galloped to what I hoped was safety. 

Every time someone mentioned the redcoats or the Black watch, my stomach convulsed in worry over Jamie’s security. Why couldn’t they leave him alone? Munroe had given Jamie a message that someone named Horrocks could swear under oath that my particular Scotsman wasn’t responsible for the killing of Randall’s enlisted man. I wished they could find the person, and let him testify. Then I thought, would anyone besides Jamie’s family listen though?

. . . . .

All during breakfast, Dougal kept staring at me. Now what? It didn’t take long to find out.

I had promised Jamie that I wouldn’t walk far from the cottage alone, but skittish as a cat cornered by a cobra, I needed to shake the nervous tension from my bones. I walked to the stable where Murtagh was currying the horses, hoping to settle my nerves somewhat.

Murtagh didn’t talk much. In that regard, he didn’t seem as Scottish to me. The rest of the pirates all seemed to like hearing their own voices.

His back was to me, so I cleared my throat to let him know I was present. “Ah, Sassenach. What brings ye here to the stable?”

“I thought maybe being around the horses would help calm me. I’m worried about Jamie. The watch is coming here.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Unfortunately, yes.

“Murtagh …? You know, I don’t even have the slightest idea what your first name is.”

He didn’t look a bit amused. “Murtagh … Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser.”

“Oh, how stupid of me. So, Murtagh, how long has Jamie been branded as an outlaw?”

His hand dropped away from the horse he was working on. It hung down, the straw still clenched in his fist. “Weel, let’s see now … He was arrested at 19 years of age. I dinna ken how long he rotted at Wentworth ’til we broke him out. I canna say for sure, but he’s been on the run for nigh on four years, I expect.”

I was horrified. “Four years?”

“Aye. The lad’s used to it, leastways, there nothin’ to be doon ’bout it. You dinna be worrit about Jamie, though. He’s verra clever. The Watch nor the redcoats have so much as seen a glimpse o’ his red hair since he escaped from that hole they call a prison.”

Four years, I thought to myself. How could he endure it, always looking over his shoulder at every turn?

Murtagh continued brushing down the horse, then turned his attention to the hooves. Pulling up one of the animal’s legs, he let out a curse, then, “Och … a loose shoe. I’ll be needin’ a nail or two to put it right. I expect there’ll be some in the shed behind the cabin. If ye’ll excuse me.”

He left by the back gate. I started walking around the stable aimlessly when in strode the warchief. Peering straight at me, he said, “Sassenach, glad I am to find ye here. I have an urgent message to give ye. I’ve been doin’ some serious thinkin’. It wouldna do to have the watch or the redcoats makin’ ye a widow so soon after yer marriage. I can see now, as it was a mistake to have ye marry the lad. Ye need a man, no a boy, wet behind the ears. Ye need someone who can protect ye, someone who doesna run ever’ time the Watch comes ‘round. Ye’ll come with me; the marriage will be annulled, and we can be man and wife afore the next full moon appears in the heavens.”

Was he insane, or just full of himself? The arrogant prick. I still remembered the kiss he forced on me during an escape attempt. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am; it’s the sensible thing to do. Randall will have ye if Jamie dies. It’s just a matter o’ time. The lad canna escape him fore’er. Think on it, Mistress Fraser. Yer husband canna take ye back to Castle Leoch and out o’ Randall’s reach, but I can.” 

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. I don’t want to leave Jamie. I love him, and he loves me. This would break his heart.”

“Better his heart should break now, than for me to see ye turned over to that bloodthirsty monster when Jamie’s dead. Love willna see ye to safety. Mark my words, woman, Jamie’s no for this earth much longer.”

“Says you …” I spat at him.

Dougal glared daggers at me, and swung around, storming out of the structure.

Panic suddenly seized me. Did he mean to have Jamie killed so he could clear the path to wed me? I wouldn’t put it past him. Just one less threat to worry about. Get Colum out of the way next, and Dougal would succeed to the Lairdship.

. . . . .

Murtagh entered through the back entrance, carrying a burlap sack in one hand and a hammer in the other. Looking dour, he inquired, “Is he gone, then?”

“I believe so.”

He put down the tool and bag of supplies. “I heard ever’ word that man uttered. I didna ken that he could stoop so low as to steal another man’s wife. Ye’d best stay clear of him, Sassenach. I’ll let Jamie in on what was told here. It’s nay secret that Dougal’s jealous o’ ye two. He wants ye for himself, and will go to any means necessary to have ye. And, he wants the position o’ Laird after Colum’s death, so he’ll be killin’ two birds with one stone, ye ken.”

I ken his mind all right, the bloody bastard. I nearly shuddered thinking about Dougal with his hands all over me, his whiskey breath while pressing his lips to mine, and taking me by storm.


	9. Dougal's Denouncement

Chapter 9: Dougal’s Denouncement

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander. Banner by LOS

. . . . .

The five men that made up the watch, stopped by, took a look around, drank a few tumblers of whiskey, and weaved their tales. I didn’t understand any of the spoken word, since they all blathered away in Gaelic. What I did understand needed no translation. A few of the men shot lustful gazes at me, but our warchieftain, wielding his authority, kept the wolves at bay. 

They stayed a couple of hours, and I was ready to breathe again when the last horse’s rump faded from sight.

I was on pins and needles until the sun went down, and heard the hooves of Jamie’s horse clopping as it neared the cottage. My heart accelerated, and I ran outside to greet him. He leapt from the animal, and I was in his embrace, finally able to relax. 

After covering his face in kisses, I said, “God, I’m so glad you’re here. My stomach’s been tied in knots. Are you all right?”

“Right as rain. Ye dinna havta worrit about yer Jamie. The Watch willna e’er be clever enough to outsmart this Highlander.”

That comment made my heart sink. Dougal’s words reverberated in my head. Jamie was clever, and seemed to have luck at his side, but could his luck endure? The thought of him being captured again filled me with dread. It was one thing to evade his enemies on his own, but he now had me, his wife, to consider as well. My tagging along would slow him down immensely. I wished at that moment that we could just run off together, and sail across the ocean to America—seasickness notwithstanding—where no one knew him, and would leave us to live out our lives in peace.

Frowning at me, he said, “Ye’re shiverin’, Sassenach. Ye need to warm yerself by the hearth.” He pushed me away gently. “Go on inside, now. I’ll be in shortly.”

I shook my head. “No … I want to stay here with you.”

“What’s come over ye? I’m just gonta see to stablin’ my horse.”

“I’ll go with you,” I replied.

Jamie, still looking concerned, loosened his plaid, and removed it from his shoulder. Draping it around me, he led the animal by the reins. We entered the stable, and I sat on the straw-strewn ground, observing him as he watered and fed Trom-laighe. He began brushing its flanks, then turned to me. “What is it that’s botherin’ ye, Claire? The lads havena been disrespectful toward ye, have they?” He stiffened suddenly. “If any o’ them laid a hand on ye …”

“It’s nothing. I just missed you. I worry about you. Isn’t there any way you can find this Horrocks person so the watch will stop their bloody hounding?”

He put down the handful of straw he was using to curry the beast, and hunkered down beside me. “Aye, we tried once, and the man wasna there where he shouldha been. We’ll try again verra soon, I promise ye.”

A chuckle escaped his throat, and he waved his hand nonchalantly. His eyes got big and round, his head nodding animatedly, and his voice theatric. “It seems as Horrocks is on the run as much as I am. He’ll lead us on a merry chase, I’m afeared.”

Shaking my head, I sighed. “I’m just so tired of waiting around for you every time these hooligans show their faces. My head fills with scenes of you, captured, lying in your own blood, in pain or worse.”

Jamie moved closer, and stroking my cheek, said, “I’ll find Horrocks and put this all at an end. I swear to ye on my mother’s grave.”

I gazed up into his infinitely blue eyes, so clear with sincerity, and felt the unraveling of my soul. Jamie … I wanted to fall down and weep, I loved him so.

“You have got to find him, Jamie, because if you die, I’ll follow right after you.”

I pulled his neck toward me, and our lips joined hungrily. I needed to be under his skin … a part of him. 

Panting, Jamie muttered, “Sassenach, nay, I want ye for certain, but no here. Let’s get to the house. It’s cold in this stable, ye ken, and we havena warm blankets exceptin’ for my plaid.” 

He led me hurriedly into the cottage, past the other members of our party, without so much as a word. With the door to the bedroom closed tightly, Jamie bolted the lock with a loud click. I could overhear several snickers from our amused comrades, as we scrambled onto the mattress, and under the covers.  
. . . . .

I woke with a start the next morning. Jamie was already up, and out of the room. Wrapping a blanket about my shoulders, I walked to the window. I saw Murtagh and Jamie on the way to the stable, talking no doubt about the indecent proposition that Dougal had laid before me on the day prior. This would not sit well with my irascible Scotsman.

He came inside to breakfast after he and Murtagh tended to the horses. Whatever his cousin had divulged to him, he didn’t let on. I could only surmise that Jamie already had an inkling that Dougal had designs on me from the very beginning, so I guessed it was no great revelation to him. I wondered though, if Dougal wanted me from the first, why had he set up the nuptials with Jamie? Did he think I would be less likely to run if I faced a marriage with someone less formidable? And did that mean he entertained the thought that he could sample some of my favors on the side as he once suggested? But what was different now? I had refused his offer on my wedding night. Did he underestimate the loyalty to my new husband, and now regretted his decision? Had I unknowingly forced his hand?

That afternoon, Jamie mysteriously disappeared. I looked everywhere and finally gave up. He’d been a bit quiet at the table earlier, and I wondered if it had anything to do with his conversation with Murtagh.

He returned later on, still brooding about whatever it was that was eating at him. As we got ready for bed, I sat beside him while he tugged off his boots. I placed a hand over his, and he turned toward me, sighing. He pitched the remaining boot onto the floor. “Sassenach, my cousin told me what Dougal said to ye, yesterday.”

“Jamie … I—”

“Nay, Claire, hear me out.” He swallowed nervously. “The gist o’ it is … maybe Dougal is right. The watch and that filthy Captain Randall will chase me ’til doomsday. Ye need someone to protect ye from that scurvy rat if I’m gone. I love ye, and my heart would break to see ye dissolve our marriage and wed wi’ my uncle, but if it’s the only way o’ it ...” 

“James Fraser—don’t you dare say another word! What a load of codswallop. How in the bloody hell can you think that way? Didn’t it ever occur to you that I don’t want to dissolve our marriage? Can’t you get it through that thick Scottish head of yours, that I belong to you? I’d rather die than marry Dougal. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ …! I am not a horse to be traded or bought and sold. I’m a woman, and I’m your woman. And that, Jamie, is that. Now take off the rest of those clothes, get under the covers, and make me yours again.”

His head jerked in shock. “God, woman, ye’ve the face o’ an angel, but such a devil I ne’r did see in bed. What a lucky man I am.” 

. . . . . 

The watch suspiciously began coming around to the cottage on a more frequent basis—different men each time—and as a result, my poor Jamie was constantly scurrying out the door—or window as the case may be—to evade them. It was to the point that he slept, fully dressed, with his pistol under his pillow. One day, I looked on during another visit as Dougal walked out into the field and spoke to one of them. He was definitely up to something.

We left the Bryce cabin the following week, on the advice of the Watch. Redcoats had been spotted in the immediate area, they said. Later, I was convinced it was stated for my benefit alone. 

The very next day, while we were on the road, Angus, Murtagh and Jamie were sent on ahead of us as lookouts. Young Willie, his father, Duncan, and his brother, Ciaran, and Rupert, made up the rear with Dougal and myself. Everything seemed calm until Mutagh returned, galloping straight at us, with Angus not far behind. 

“They took him … the Watch. They were lying in wait for us … it was as if someone tipped them off ’bout our whereabouts. There was nary a way they could ken our secret escape route except for a traitor in our midst.” 

Murtagh flashed a steely eye at Dougal, and then yelled to Rupert. “Quick, man, put on yer deserter’s uniform, we’re gonta get Jamie back.” 

The three of them removed anything that signified highlander, and donned the trousers, jackets, tricornes, and bandoleers, rushing off in a cloud of dust. I should have felt apprehension, but living as we had for the recent weeks, I’d become numb. This whole scenario was surreal, like I was in a dream state. I stared out after them, my insides as empty as Bonny Prince Charlie’s coffers. Looking back on it now, I believe that my subconscious was protecting me from mentally unhinging.

While the threesome were gone on a daring rescue mission, Dougal ordered the rest of us to follow him to set up camp close to a nearby stream. I recognized the area as the one with our laughing place, only I wasn’t in the mood for any laughter until my Jamie came back to me ... alive and well. 

. . . . .

After the camping gear was laid out for the approach of evening, Dougal took me aside, roughly pulling me along, saying he needed to talk to me. We left a little ways from the campsite, up to a ridge where his horse and mine were tethered. He turned to me, sneering. “I told ye, wench, sooner or later, Jamie would be leavin’ a widow behind. Looks like t’day is the day. If the lads havena returned yet, then they’re no goin’ to. Now, ye’re gonta come wi’ me willin’ or no.”

“I most certainly will not,” I screeched at him.

Spinning me about, he grabbed me by the shoulders, and pushed me toward my horse, with his knee to my back. I wrestled away, as best as I could, screaming for help. His dirk was at my throat in an instant. “Stop yer caterwaulin', Sassenach. Ye’ll no get away from me this time, and the camp willna help ye. What Dougal says is their law. Now, get op on yer horse.” 

In defiance, I stood there, not making a move to mount the beast. Dougal shoved me forward, the blade still dangerously close to the skin at my throat. It was a few seconds later when I heard the glorious noise of boots stamping on the ground. Everyone at the campsite had gathered to the spot, and Jamie’s voice rang out, “That’s my woman ye’re threatening wi’ yer dirk. Now I’ll thank ye to get yer filthy hands off my wife.”

My attacker threw the dirk to the ground, and unsheathed his sword. Jamie answered in kind. A murmur spread throughout the men, their eyes flitting back and forth between the two warriors. Dougal made the first parry, drawing blood from a strike on Jamie’s shoulder, and the battle was on. 

I closed my eyes, shutting out the horrid scene unfolding in front of me, a scream trapped inside my throat. Frozen to the spot, my hands were over my heart to prevent it from leaping from my chest and falling to my feet. Please don’t kill him, Dougal.


	10. All the King's Men

Chapter 10: All the King’s Men

 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander 

. . . . .

I reopened my eyes despite my fear, and watched the deadly duel. They were like two bulls rushing at each other, and even though Dougal was a good twenty-five years older, his experience and sheer ferocity were astonishing. And yet, Jamie had the agility of youth and having been trained by his opponent, was a worthy match for his uncle. 

The clash of swords and the groans and grunts emanating from the two adversaries made me shudder. I shrieked more than a few times, as Dougal shoved a shoulder into Jamie’s already oozing wound, or knocked him about crashing him into the neighboring trees.

While his sword was crossed with Dougal’s, he leaned against his rival’s chest, bellowing, “It wasna hard to ken who was behind my capture. You told them where I would be; ye did! I canna believe ye’d turn yer back on yer own kin, and try to steal away my wife, knowing as ye do, how much I love the lass.” 

Dougal fought back savagely, murder in his eyes. Just when I thought he had Jamie beat, my Scotsman whipped around, and between furiously slashing and cutting with his blade, lunged headlong at his uncle. He pierced Dougal’s heart with his sgian dubh, just as Angus had taught me. The warchief gurgled, his eyes wide in shock, the blood spurting from his chest, and he slumped to the ground, dead. 

Jamie stood over him, chest heaving, and breathless, throwing down his sword. I ran to him, and his arms enveloped me. He looked to Murtagh, then to the others, who nodded. Rupert spoke, “It was a fair fight. Ye were only defendin’ yerself and yer woman. Anyone who says different can take op a sword agin’ me.

Angus circled the men. “Aye, what Jamie said is the truth o’ it. The Watch were there, surroundin’ us on all sides. They kent where we would be, and it was Dougal that sent them after us. He was a traitor, and deserved a traitor’s fate. It was only luck bein’ wi’ us when we took Jamie off their hands. We lied to them; told the buggers that we would return him to Randall and his dragoons.”

His eyes searched the group. “Are there any o’ ye that disagree wi’ us?”

The rest of the clansmen looked at each other. Young Willie stepped forward, and quietly spoke, “We all saw what Dougal was tryin’, and I ken it was a fair fight like ye said.” 

A chorus of Ayes rose in the air. 

. . . . .

Jamie walked me back to camp so I could see to his injuries. Duncan and Murtagh stayed behind, wrapping their fallen comrade in a blanket and trussing it securely, in preparation for hauling Dougal’s remains to Castle Leoch and his final resting place. 

I no sooner had Jamie sitting on our pallet, ready to dress his wounds when Willie yelled, “Redcoats!”

Everyone scrambled, leaving the tents intact, and the fire pit burning. They mounted their horses while Jamie had the presence of mind to hurriedly douse the flames. I gathered up my treatments and potions, dropping them into their container.

Murtagh shouted at Duncan, “Leave him; they’ll no disturb the dead. We’ll come back later to fetch him.”

The others started out with a few seconds head start, and then we were off, trailing behind.

The soldiers were on us more rapidly than I had expected, and to make matters worse, one of the shoes on my mare tore loose. Bloody hell, those deserters did not pay careful attention to the maintenance of their horses’, and unfortunately, my hind end was sitting on one of those neglected beasts now. My own beloved Brimstone was still up on the ridge, safely away from all this mayhem.

The animal began to slow her pace, the shoe dangling off her hoof. Jamie pulled his stallion around, turning about to help me. He dismounted and hoisted me up onto the saddle seating me in front of him. 

The troops were gaining on us, due to those precious seconds we lost, and Trom Laighe now had to carry my extra weight, which slowed us down considerably. After a few harrowing minutes, Jamie suddenly slipped down from his horse, coiling the reins about the saddle horn. He gazed up at me, a solemn look in his eyes. “I’m verra sorry, Sassenach. I willna be goin’ wi’ ye. I’ll no have the soldiers cart ye away wi’ them, not while I’m still alive. Ye go on. I’ll fend for myself.” 

My heart seized. “Nooo—Jamie, no! I won’t leave you.”

“Aye—ye will, for ye must. Please, Claire … if ye love me, then obey me now. It’s the only way.”

He smiled at me, maybe for the last time, and slapped the horse’s rump, sending the beast galloping on ahead. I looked over my shoulder, and Jamie waved with one hand, sword in the other, as the soldiers rode up, surrounding him. I watched as he dropped his weapon, his hands clasped behind his head. Then he fell to his knees in surrender. 

I could barely see the road through my tears, but grasped the reins just in time to run straight into … Captain Black Jack Randall.

. . . . .

“Lost are you? A lady of your station shouldn’t be out here alone without a male escort. But then you are not a lady, are you? I’m assuming your Scotsman has been captured not far from here; else you’d not be on the road such as you are. Allow me to lead you back to that redheaded traitor. I’m certain he’d be glad of your company. He has a taste for dark-haired strumpets. My dragoons would be pleased to partake of a little taste also. I mustn’t be selfish, keeping you all to myself.”

I kicked my heels into Trom Laighe, urging him forward, thinking to weave to the side of the captain. It was a vain attempt, because I only got a few steps in that direction when I heard the click of a pistol being cocked.

The barrel of the gun was pointed at me; I had no recourse but to heed his instructions. “Tsk, tsk, you would remove yourself from my presence? That would not seem proper, since we’ve but only had a chance to say our hellos.” The tone of his voice hardened. “Besides, I didn’t grant you permission to leave. So … hand over the reins, Mistress Fraser. I believe we have some unfinished business to conclude.”

. . . . .

My mind whirled in thought on the short trip to the place of Jamie’s capture. Randall would torture and kill my husband, and probably me as well. My only hope was if I had to die this day, that we would die together.

As we neared the hill, I saw what was happening. Jamie was on the ground, three of the soldiers, punching and kicking him unmercifully, with shouts of, “Filthy Scottish scum … traitor … insolent ginger!” 

My Jamie never let out a sound during the ordeal, infuriating his attackers that much more.

I recognized two of the dragoons, trying to restrain the other three, Corporals Hawkins, and Leftenant Foster. At least they had some shred of decency.

Randall dismounted his horse, his pistol never leaving his hand. He flicked it in my direction, gesturing me to dismount also. I slid from the saddle, and his unoccupied hand grabbed my arm, squeezing it painfully.

He sauntered up to the scene in his arrogant fashion, jerking me along. The men beating Jamie stood aside as their superior officer approached. We were standing just a few feet away, when Jamie looked up, defeat housed in his eyes.

“Well, well, well … James Fraser, we meet again at last, under a rather unfortunate circumstance I’m afraid.” He sniffed—a habit the captain seemed to employ every time he displayed contempt for someone. “I brought you your lovely little trollop to share in your misery.” 

Resigned, Jamie panted heavily and defiantly spoke. “Do yer worst, Randall, only let the lass go.”

Captain Randall, shook me roughly, and taunted, “Now why on earth would I do that?”

I heard him sniffing again, behind me. He knew without a doubt, that he had the upper hand. He shoved me forward, his weapon pressed against my shoulder blade.

“Shall history repeat itself today?” 

He flicked his head toward the men holding Jamie. “You—Taggart and Madison, tie him to that tree over there. His back hasn’t seen the lash in years.” 

The man named Taggart, put his rifle on the ground so he could pull Jamie to his feet.

“No … please,” I screamed.

“Shut your mouth, slut, or you’ll be joining him directly.”

Jamie lunged for the rifle while his assailant averted his attention to Randall. A struggle ensued, and the other soldiers pulled them apart. A shot rang out, and Taggart fell. I saw the smoke curling around me, and the heat from Randall’s pistol.

“I’ll not have incompetents in my company. Corporal Hawkins … drag him out of the way.

“Now, you filthy outlaw, are you ready to go quietly?”

Jamie bucked against other two, who now tightened their grip on his arms. 

“You know … I can’t remember ever meeting a more obstinate Scotsman than you, so maybe it would behoove me to give you a little incentive.”

The gun was now against the side of my head.

Jamie twisted in their grasp. “Ye bluidy bastard. I’ll no let ye do this.”

“I beg to differ.”

Randall walked to my side slowly, in carefully measured steps, waving the gun in front of my face. “I wonder … would your husband still want you if you were missing an eye?”

Once more, Jamie crumpled in a heap. “Please, dinna hurt her. I’ll do anathin’ ye say.”

Turning his head, Randall shouted at Madison and the other man. “See that. What a small amount of motivation can do! I’ll not be needing your assistance now. I’m ordering you to see if you can find out where the rest of his clansmen have gotten to.”

I squirmed against my captor. “Someday, you will pay for your cruelty, Captain.”

He slapped me hard across the face, the blow making my eyes water. Tucking the gun into his belt, he drew out his knife. Glancing down at Jamie, Randall hissed, “Your wife has quite an acid tongue on her, and I have a marvelous remedy for that.” He pointed the blade at my mouth, grinning wickedly. 

My chest was heaving in fear, but it was not long before I heard another rifle shot. The captain dropped the knife, a stunned look on his face, and then I noticed the bullet hole in his forehead as he sank to the earth. Hawkins was frozen on the spot, eyes wide, grey wisps drifting from the barrel of his weapon. He took a few steps to Randall as he lay there at a grotesque angle, and kicked his corpse several times. I overheard him mumble, “It is freeing, Captain—very freeing.”

He straightened, then, and said, “Mistress, you and your husband may leave. We’ll not stop you, nor tell anyone. Take Randall’s horse. Now go!” 

Foster nodded and helped Jamie up. I kissed both of them on the cheek. “I’m forever in your debt. I’ll never forget either one of you.”

Hawkins aided Jamie to alight on his horse. “Thank ye, truly, Corporal Hawkins.”

. . . . .

I followed Jamie as he led me, picking through the woods, back to our recently abandoned bivouac. The fighting Scotsmen had all returned and somehow, even the mare with the shoe still hanging loose was there as well, my box of treatments strapped to her saddle.

The men were all busily striking camp except for Murtagh, who after patting Jamie on the back, was grumbling in Gaelic while re-nailing the shoe on the poor animal. Rupert and Willie were up on the ridge, securing Dougal’s remains to his horse.

I wanted to check on Jamie’s injuries, but there wasn’t time. We were on the move— after retrieving my precious box—to the next area of encampment.

. . . . .

Jamie and I were in the saddle for more than four bloody hours before we finally came to the spot. I could just imagine how Jamie must’ve been feeling. Bone tired, we left our saddles, and I rapidly set out our animal hides, and bid Jamie to take a seat. I couldn’t succumb to exhaustion until I was assured that Jamie was all right.


	11. Return to Leoch

A/N: Thank you all for reading and leaving kudos. I am humbled and pleasantly surprised.

.....  
Chapter 11: Return to Leoch 

I went about dressing the various scrapes and gashes, and especially the deep laceration at his shoulder. Jamie’s ribs were also badly bruised from all the kicking those red-coated ruffians blessed him with. I tentatively touched one area to ascertain the extent of the damage.

”Does that hurt?” 

He flinched at my touch, letting out a hiss between his teeth. “Aye, a bit, but only when I breathe.” Jamie’s lips turned up in a slight smile. 

I ignored his attempt at levity. There was nothing funny about the battering his body sustained. I felt along the bone. “It may be broken. I’ll strap it up just as a precautionary measure.” 

Getting up on my knees, I thought about this whole situation. It was very like a déjà vu of the first time I had to wrap fabric strips about him. I carefully wound the cloth around his chest, trying to avoid inflicting any more pain on the poor man. 

His head tilted up, his eyes piercing mine suddenly. “Are ye all right, Claire?”

I jerked in surprise. The man was a pitiful sight, and yet he was worried about me? “Am I all right? Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. You’re a hulking mass of bruises, and you’re asking me if I’m all right?”

I tied off the bandage, and promptly plopped down on my rump, bursting into tears. My head was immediately cupped in one of Jamie’s hands, hugging it to his uninjured shoulder. “Shh … shh … It’s fine, Sassenach. Randall isna more.”

. . . . .

We slept like the dead that night, exhaustion overtaking us, and during the early morning, I had a very vivid dream. I was weaving my fingers through Jamie’s copper tresses, and when I awoke, realized that it was more than a dream. He was sighing contentedly, as I continued gently ruffling his hair. His shining blue eyes slowly slid open, and a smile broke like the dawn on his face. “I like when ye do that. It’s verra soothin’. It calms the churnin’ in my stomach and settles my heart.”

My palm instinctively stroked his cheek, the rough stubble on his face grated against it, evidence that this was based in reality. He was actually, bodily near me. “It settles my heart too ... being able to touch you, to know that you’re here, alive and with me.”

“Aye. I dinna ken what will happen tomorrow, but nothin’ can be worse than what we experienced the day past. What wi’ Randall dead, and Dougal as weel, it’s fair to say as maybe our luck has changed.”

Cupping his face in my hands, I groaned, “I was so scared, Jamie, and not so much for my own life, but scared of losing you. I don’t ever want to feel that way again. After being together, I could never live without you by my side. It would be worse than death; my spirit would with go with you, leaving me an empty shell. God, it’s almost sinful the way I love you.” 

“I ken yer meaning, Claire, for I love ye as weel—maybe too much for my own good. Ye have this power o’er me, and I canna break it, nor do I wanta … whate’er Dougal said to the contrary.” 

My sweet husband sighed and moving closer, began what I recognized as a preliminary to lovemaking. I chastised him soundly, even as his lips moved over my throat. “Jamie, you can’t. You’re hurt, and no telling what could happen. You’ll be risking a total break of your rib and possibly puncture the lung with all that activity. If you want, I can satisfy you in another way.” 

“Nay, Claire, I’ll no take my pleasure wi’out givin’ ye the same.”

“I don’t mind, really …”

“I’ll just go back to sleep, then.” He turned his head after kissing me with an aching tenderness.

Burrowing under the blankets, my hand crept lower on his torso, followed with my tongue. “Are you sure, Scotty?” I asked saucily.

His head reared back, lolling on the pillow, his fists clenching the bedding. “Weel … huuuh … och … ah, woman ... huuuuh … I am bedeviled.” 

When I completed my ministrations, and my randy Scotsman was finished as well, we drifted off to sleep again for a little while. Jamie reawakened not long after and left a quick peck on my cheek. He whispered, “Weel, op wi’ ye, for my belly’s cryin’ for sustenance. If I dinna fill it soon, the growlin’ will wake op the whole o’ the camp.”

Angus sat up from his pallet just then. “While ye’re at it, fetch me an oatcake from my saddlebag, will ye? My belly’s makin’ its wants kent as weel. Ye can take a couple for yer trouble.” 

After Jamie’s rumbling stomach was filled to capacity and his libido satisfied, he and I rolled up our hides and disassembled the tent. We then arranged our belongings, fastening them to our horses. Only one more night sleeping under the stars, and soon we’d be seeing the stone walls of Castle Leoch.

. . . . .

Murtagh was ecstatic about Captain Randall’s prize stallion falling into our hands. He lovingly groomed it and changed out the bridle and other telltale British accouterments. He led the caravan proud as a peacock. Rupert followed, riding his own sorrel and leading the black horse carrying the late warchief’s remains.

As we approached the last camp area before reaching our final destination, Dougal’s body began slipping from the constraints tying him to the saddle. Jamie and I had been riding behind the beast for the last few miles, and he yelled for Rupert to hold up.

Jamie jumped down quickly just in time to catch the shrouded carcass, as it slithered down the left flank of the animal. In the meantime, Rupert dropped the reins to both horses and came round to help reposition the corpse. The binding around his head and shoulders were loose, and so I held the body steady while they labored to cinch the blanket closed again. Rupert uncovered the face, gripping the wool fabric tighter to ensure better coverage. The dead man’s eyes were wide open in the last vestiges of shock, and I saw the look on Jamie’s face.

He never uttered a word, when the grim task was completed, but helped me up into my saddle, and swiftly mounted Trom Laighe. 

. . . . .

I felt like I could breathe again knowing that Leoch was just one day away. Everyone seemed in merry spirits—everyone except Jamie, that is. He kept pacing up and down, his brow furrowed.

When he retired to our tent, he yanked off his boots, and flopped back onto the pillow, his forearm lying across his eyelids. “I killed him, Sassenach. My own flesh and blood. The man who taught me to fight, the man who made it possible for ye to be my lawfully wedded wife. I didna want to draw my steel agin’ him—and yet, curse me—I did.” He exhaled loudly. “I ne’er raised a sword to my own kin afore. I’m sore displeased wi’ myself. I shouldha found another way round ’bout it. But the thing o’ it is; I’d do it agin if it meant I could keep ye.”

I couldn’t believe he was blaming himself for his uncle’s demise. I remained sitting upright, and looked down on him. “There’s nothing for you to regret. Your feelings are wrong about this. That filthy bastard forced you into it. He knew the consequences of his actions; one of you would most certainly be dead. He probably counted on how easily he could run you through. Dougal even bloody-well plotted your capture, to divert the attention from himself. He was going to snatch me from your very arms.”

I licked my lips, and shaking my head, continued to rationalize what had occurred. “Murtagh says your uncle was jealous of our happiness, and he wanted the Lairdship for himself too. Don’t you see? Colum would be following you to the grave as well.

“And another thing … I never told you this, but on our wedding night, while you were asleep, I crept downstairs to get more whisky. Dougal was still there, and he made advances to me. He said that just because I was married to you, didn’t mean I couldn’t sample other pleasures.”

I lay down on the pallet, positioned on my side. “He meant to keep me close so he could take me anytime of his choosing. That’s the only reason he had me marry you. After all, you were his nephew, and you’d do what you were told, even if it was to look the other way during your uncle’s lascivious encounters. Then when I told him I was your wife and duty bound to you, he became very upset. I heard him fighting downstairs after our conversation. Rupert made a lewd comment about how well you had performed your husbandly duties, and Dougal cuffed him. I couldn’t help but overhear the sound of the blow and Rupert’s surprised response. So you see, you had no choice.”

With his voice just above a whisper, he stammered, “Still … I—”

“No, don’t. Everyone there that day exonerated you. It was a fair fight. You would’ve been dead yourself otherwise. And anyway, do you think I would be happy living with that frightful man, knowing he was responsible for your death? Jamie, think about it. You were fighting for your life … for Colum’s life, for my life as your loving companion.”

I scooted closer to my sweetheart, and rose up on one elbow. He needed my touch whether he said so or not. “Shh … now close your eyes and go to sleep, my Scotty.” I reached over and began threading my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp gently, hoping to once again calm his churning stomach, and settle his heart. His breathing evened out and became more shallow. I tucked the blankets around him, and snuggled down, resting my head on the pillow of his shoulder. I drifted into a heavy sleep, and neither of us woke until daybreak.

. . . . .

He was in better spirits the next day, until we reached the castle courtyard. Then he began looking around nervously as Dougal’s body was taken down from his horse and carried to the interior corridors of Leoch. Murtagh trotted closer and spoke. “Ye go on down to Nettle Creek. I’ll meet ye there, and let ye ken if it’s safe to come back.”

Jamie nodded in agreement, and turned Trom Laighe away from the stone walls and gestured to me to follow him.

I wasn’t stupid. It was obvious that Jamie needed to be cautious. He killed his uncle, after all. Colum would miss his brother and his warchieftain. Then too, there were sure to be some clansmen who would not take that information lightly. But again, Jamie did have some supporters that wanted him to preside as the new Laird on Colum’s death. Would they put it to a vote, or would the naysayers just slit his throat while he explained what happened? What they would do to him was a question I couldn’t answer. So it was with great urgency that Jamie and I galloped away to Nettle Creek.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! I was so tired of running; first from Randall, then the watch, then Dougal, Randall again, and now even Colum, and the rest of Jamie’s bloody relatives. When would it ever end? 

. . . . .

We neared the creek, and Jamie and I dismounted, leading the horses to the water. There were patches of snow on the ground, and the soft crunch under the animals’ hooves, along with the gently rippling of the stream made the only sounds.

“What will happen now? Will they try to hang you?”

“I dinna ken, Sassenach. Murtagh and the others will plead my case afore Colum. He’ll make a decision.”

“I can’t live like this, Jamie. My heart can’t take it anymore.”

“Aye. It’s a hard life what wi’ enemies risin’ from the verra rocks. Stars and stones, sometimes I wish I could die and be doon wi’ it. Verra tiring it is, waitin’ for the stroke o’ the blade to cut me down. If I didna have ye wi’ me, I should go mad.” 

He walked the horses to a nearby tree and tethered them there, then unrolled the animal hides. We sat together on it, arms encircling each other, and waited for Murtagh to arrive with the news for good or ill.


	12. Laird

Chapter 12: Laird 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander 

. . . . .

For the most part, we stayed on the pallet, never uttering a word, or moving a muscle, except to eat a bite of cheese, and some stale bread. I was so anxious that even the ever-present whiskey didn’t seem to help me at all.

It was twilight before we heard the distinctive clip-clop of Randall’s black stallion closing in on the creek. Murtagh waved at us, but he looked so peculiar. I had never seen him smile before. What on earth …?

Murtagh slid off the saddle, and slowly fastened the reins to the tree where our horses were tied. He sauntered toward us. When he got within three feet of us, he stood there with arms akimbo, the grin never leaving his face.

Jamie stood up to his full height, and said, “Weel, out wi’ it, man. Give me Colum’s decree, afore my hair turns to gray.”

“He didna say a word.”

“What? It’s no time for yer jokes, Murtagh. Now tell me what my uncle said.”

“I’m speakin’ the truth to ye, to be sure. Yer uncle is dead.”

Taking a step forward, Jamie countered with, “I ken that fact, for I killed him myself.”

Murtagh waved one hand in the air. “Not that uncle, ye dim-witted oaf … yer other uncle.”

“Ye mean to tell me as Colum isna more?”

“Do ye suppose as ye have any other uncles? Aye, Colum died a fortnight ago.”

“I dinna understand why ye’re standin’ there smilin’, then.”

“Because, Jamie, ye’re now the Laird o’ Castle Leoch.”

Jamie blinked several times while his brain absorbed the news. “What did ye say?”

“I said, ye’re the new Laird. Och, lad … have ye lost yer hearin’ along wi’ yer brain?”

Seeing the perplexed expression on his face, I grabbed Jamie’s hand. “You’d best bloody well sit down before you fall down.”

He plunked down unceremoniously, repeating the words over and over. “Laird … Laird …? I canna understand it.”

His cousin sat with us, and reached in his trouser pocket, pulling out an official looking document. Handing it to Jamie, he said, “Here it is, all proper and legal. Read for yerself.”

It was a sheaf of parchment, proclaiming James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser as Laird, with signatures and marks by many of the clansmen. At the very bottom, it was duly sealed and signed by none other than that wily lawyer, Ned Gowan. 

I was nearly as speechless as Jamie. I had imagined the two of us running for our lives, always sleeping with one eye open as it were. Instead, we were being ensconced as the MacKenzie clan rulers … but were we ready, or rather was my Scotsman ready for this … dubious honor?

. . . . .

My mind was in a veritable tizzy on the journey to Leoch; wondering how in the hell all this came to pass. Murtagh kept pivoting around on his stallion and urging us to get a move on. In any event, I gladly anticipated having a sturdy roof over my head once more, thick stone walls for protection, my surgery to keep the boredom away, and my Jamie to keep me warm at night.

Speaking of Jamie, he hadn’t spoken since he slung himself onto his horse’s saddle. I imagine his brain was a rapidly swirling fog of thoughts. My ideas as to what constituted a Lairdship were a mass of confusion too. What did one do as a Laird, anyway … besides listening to a mob of clansmen pledging their oaths and sentencing people to have the living daylights beaten out of them? Maybe Jamie’s stint as ruler would be much less a reign of terror and would usher in a more tolerant and gentle era, like Camelot. These men could certainly do worse than adhere to a code of chivalry.

People began streaming out of the castle at our approach, and Murtagh was grinning widely, nodding to them as we walked on by. I felt like a celebrity, and Frank Sinatra came to mind—what a silly notion. So many of the crowd patted our horses or tugged on our clothing. It was disconcerting to say the least. At first, I tensed up, but the people seemed friendly enough; some even cheered when Jamie entered the courtyard astride Trom Laighe.

Above all the stramash, as Jamie would say, Mrs. Fitzgibbons came thundering toward us when we dismounted, shrieking, “Jamie Fraser, thank the lord. Ye’ve returned to us.” 

Wiping tears from her eyes, she voiced, “With all o’ the sad tidin’s descendin’ upon us these past few weeks, this is the one bright spot o’ it all. God bless ye, lad. We’ll set op the table fit for a king t’night, Oh, Jamie, glad I am to see ye.” 

She squeezed Jamie tightly, then turned to me swiftly, and hugging me to her ample bosom as well, added, “And ye as weel, Mistress. I’ve got yer room all set op for the two o’ ye, and sent a maid to dust op all yer bottles o’ potions and such down in the surgery.”

When I was able to breathe again, I uttered, “Why thank you, Fitz.”

Jamie took my hand, after raising an eyebrow, and we followed her and Murtagh, who was given the same hearty welcome.

. . . . .

The people congregated on all sides of us, and I gripped Jamie’s hand tighter, afraid I’d get trampled by the throng. On the way to our room, the crowd petered out, returning to their work, or whatever it was they were engaged in.

I guess it was no surprise to find that our room was the very one that was previously occupied by Colum and his wife. Mrs. Fitzgibbons explained, “Now dinna go on ’bout Letitia bein’ shut out o’ her private quarters. She offered to move, poor woman. She said there were a wee too many memories here, and it would just reacquaint her with the grief she felt at his passin’.” She probably felt liberated more than anything else, and this room reacquainted her with the guilt.

“Weel, I’ll leave ye to yerselves for awhile. There’s hot water in the cauldron still steamin’ on the hearth, so ye can freshen op. Come down when ye’re ready and have a bite to eat.”

Jamie stood ramrod straight, and looked about the room, feeling awkward, I’m sure. “Aye, ye’ve thought o’ ever’thin’, Fitz. Thank ye, kindly.”

“You and the Mistress are verra welcome.” She turned and bustled out through the door. I sighed in relief, and plopped onto the bed … a bed … a real bed, with a goose down filling in the mattress. I spread out my arms and flopped back onto the pillow, laughing. Jamie followed suit.

Sitting up, suddenly, I asked, “Did you ever in your wildest dreams think you’d be here at Leoch, as its Laird?”

“Nay, I thought I’d be hangin’ from the nearest tree, or leastways, lyin’ in the dirt with a sword pokin’ op thru my chest.” 

My train of thought shifted, and I flung myself from the mattress, my eyes glued to some frocks lying across a chaise. “Oh, look, fresh clothes,” I exclaimed. Sitting next to it, was a small wrapped package, with French writing on the label. “Soap—soap!” In my excitement, I raised the precious nod to hygiene up above my head.” Pinch me, Scotty. This has to be a dream.”

“Dream or no, we best change, and quickly. My belly’s not likely to hold out much longer for want o’ food, and soap isna on the menu.”

. . . . .

Mrs. Fitzgibbons outdid herself. The table was piled high with bread, cheese, vegetables, a roasted pig, and several geese. If Jamie hadn’t drawn my laces so tight, I might’ve been able to stuff a few more morsels into my mouth. It’d been so long since I ate such a sumptuous feast. One thing I did not greedily devour was the Rhenish. I decided that I was on my way to becoming a lush, and the very thought appalled me. So when Jamie lifted the bottle to pour in my glass I covered the rim with my hand to prevent him from doing so. “I think I’ll just have some water if you don’t mind.”

His eyes bulged in their sockets. “Ye’re sure?”

“Perfectly.”

The celebration didn’t end when the food was consumed. There was music and dancing, and the conversation was lively. Even his taciturn cousin, Murtagh, chipped in a few anecdotes at Jamie’s expense, and he and my sweet Scotsman took turns twirling me around the hall. I hadn’t danced like that in years.

When we finally said our goodnights, Jamie snared my waist and we walked back up to our suite. As we got ready for bed, Jamie asked, “When did ye decide to give op yer drinkin?”

“I haven’t given it up … not altogether … I just feel that I don’t need to get plastered.”

“Plastered? Ah … ye mean drunk, eh?”

“Yes, I mean drunk as a skunk.”

Jamie smiled at me, knowingly. “Aye, it’s a good thing. I was worrit the day we got marrit, as ye’d pass out afore makin’ our marriage official as it were. And seein’ as ye didna call to yer memory the bits and bobs of the ceremony, it only stood to reason as I wanted ye to leastways bring to mind our weddin’ night.” 

I wrapped my arms about his neck, and up on my tiptoes, tilted my head, looking straight into his lake-blue eyes. “Well, I’ll remember every detail of this night, James Fraser, Laird of Castle Leoch. Would you like to incorporate something worthy of remembering?”

On cue, Jamie’s kilt hit the floor, and his fire spread to my lips. We were under the covers in short order.

. . . . .

My lady’s maid was at the door the next morning. I’d have to tell Mrs. Fitzgibbons that I was perfectly capable of washing and dressing myself, thank you very much. In any case, I had Jamie there to lace me up … or down as the case may be. I knew for a fact that my husband would in no way allow anyone besides me to aid him in the act of dressing himself either. Who started that idiotic tradition anyway? I would put that on the new laird’s to do list.

We marched down the stairs after deeming ourselves presentable and were swarmed by attendants to see to our victuals, glasses, cutlery, etc. I almost asked if our food taster was available just for the hell of it, but didn’t want to fluster the culinary staff. It wouldn’t do to alienate the kitchen help on Jamie’s first official day as Leoch’s ruler.

After a hearty breakfast, a conglomeration of clansmen led by Ned Gowan, converged on us, and took Jamie away to Colum’s old sitting room to discuss his duties, I suppose. No matter, they were chattering a mile a minute in Gaelic, and truthfully, I found all the politics and schedule of meetings, a bloody bore. I retired to the surgery, my hands skimming over the familiar walls. It gave me a sense of peacefulness that I hadn’t felt since we left the place.

. . . . .

That week, Ned conspired with Jamie to mete out justice with all the niggling judgment cases that came before him, and of course we had to endure the Oath Taking once more. There was quite a crowd for that particular ceremony, probably because of the change in leadership, and because of that fact, I ran into a certain blond-haired girl that had made my life miserable for a spell.

I enjoyed seeing patients and helping the castle inhabitants with their various maladies, and one day, it was freezing in the surgery, and drat it, I had forgotten my arisaid, and went back to fetch it. Walking along the corridor on the second floor, I noticed a young woman with long ash-blond hair traveling toward the west end of the castle. Looking behind her, she spotted me, and turned pale as a ghost. Laoghaire!


	13. Alas, Poor Lass

Chapter 13: Alas, Poor Lass 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all the rights to Outlander. 

. . . . .

The girl quickened her pace, obviously attempting to evade me. I yelled to her, “No, wait!” That only served to spur her on faster; however, I was determined to thwart her plans of escape.

Breathless, I caught up with her and grabbed her arm. She jerked it away from me, and backing against the wall, whimpered, “Dinna hurt me ... please.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, even though you definitely deserve it.”

She looked down at her hands fisted in front of her. “I’m sorry. I didna mean for things to go that far. I only meant to scare ye. I was in love wi’ the lad, and ye op and marrit him straightaway when ye kent I did. How could ye be so cruel?”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! I had no choice in the matter. Truth be told, I had no plans whatsoever to marry at all. It was Dougal. He forced me, saying it would protect me from Capt. Randall. And a fat lot of good it did me. 

“In any case, you need to know that your father would never allow you to marry Jamie. He is after all, still an outlaw, and at the time wasn’t in his uncle’s good graces.”

“That wouldna mattered to me. I loved him, and now it’s all gone to nothin’ as he’s marrit to ye, and I’m stuck wi’ an auld goat as Colum betrothed me to. It’s all your fault.”

My blood was beginning to boil by this time. “My fault? Now see here, young lady, Jamie is the new Laird, and he can bloody well have you flogged for your misdeed. You can bet that he won’t be lenient or step in for you this time.”

Laoghaire burst into tears. “I willna bother ye anamore; I give ye my word. Only please dinna tell my father ’bout it. He’ll strap me for sure.”

I pulled her to me, embracing her. She was a heartbroken little girl, who in a jealous snit did something horrendous, not realizing the consequences. “I forgive you,” I murmured. “And I won’t tell a soul about this conversation.”

Two maids passed us in the corridor, eyeing us curiously. 

The girl drew away slowly and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “Thank ye, Mistress.”

. . . . .

 

Jamie stomped back and forth in our room, clearly agitated. “What d’ye want me to do ’bout it, Sassenach?”

I thought for a moment. “Well, maybe you could find her a suitable husband. The mate that Colum picked out for her apparently is old enough to be her father.”

His head nodded in agreement. “Aye, she’s a bonny lass, that much is true. Rupert nor Angus would object.”

Rolling my eyes, I countered, “I said, a suitable husband ... a young stud, so she won’t feel like she’s doing penance.”

His eyebrows rose to his hairline. “A stud, ye say.”

“Yes, you know very well what I mean—a young, virile man.”

A smile spread across his lips. “Ah, I see … ye’ve forgiven her then.”

“She was barely sixteen, Jamie. And she was in love with you. Loaghaire was entitled to a few mistakes at her age.”

The smile vanished, and with his voice rising to the rafters, he sputtered, “Mistakes? Och—ye nearly burned at the stake because o’ the lass.”

“But I believe she is truly contrite. There’s no need for her to suffer for the rest of eternity over it. If she finds someone of her own to love, then she can get on with her life without looking back with regret.”

I heard him sigh; certain he meant it for my benefit. One hand was raking through his hair in exasperation. “Ye drive a verra hard bargain, woman. I’ll ask Fitz if there’s a lad as would do.”

“Thank you.” I reached up on my toes and kissed his cheek. Not satisfied, he grasped me about the waist, his mouth finding mine promptly.

. . . . .

Apart from his duties, there was ample time for a few diversions. Jamie had horses in his blood and spent many hours in the stable with Murtagh and Auld Alec. Despite his new standing among the clan, it in no way stopped those two from their constant teasing. I thought that maybe the familiarity of the men was also an enticement to the stable, and made the whole situation seem more normal.

And then there was the falconry—a recent sport he had taken up. It was not without its dangers. He came in one day to the surgery, with blood dripping from an ear and redness encroaching on the perimeter of his iris.

“What happened?” I squawked.

“Och … the silly bird was havin’ a bit o’ fun and began peckin’ at my ear. I took offense when he took aim at my eye tho’, and stopped him afore he blinded me.”

“Well, thank god for that.”

I got out a square of cotton and dabbed at his wound with some alcohol, applying pressure to stanch the flow of blood. Then, lifting his eyelids wider, I peered at his iris, shaking my head. “It appears worse than it is. You’ll be looking out of that red eye for a few days, but it’ll clear up on its own. Just stay away from the damned bird. You’re lucky he didn’t enucleate your eye and eat it for his dinner.”

“Aye.”

“Yes—eye! You need to be more careful around that bloody buzzard.”

. . . . .

Two days hence, Mrs. Fitzgibbons came to me in the surgery, which was very unusual for her. I quickly turned from my work table to greet her. “Ah … Fitz. What brings you to the surgery? Are you unwell?”

Her face was simply beaming. “Oh no, Mistress. It’s only as I wanted to tell ye in person as I found a lad for Laoghaire.”

I lay the bottle of arnica I was holding on the table top and smiled at her. “That’s wonderful news. When may I meet him?”

“He arrived late this morn, and he’ll be in the dinin’ hall t’night. I’ll seat him next to the lass so they can acquaint themselves wi’ each other, ye ken.”

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself growing excited myself. “What’s his name?” I asked.

“Kyle Fitzgibbons MacGregor. He’s just nigh on twenty years old. A strappin’ young man, he is. Good lookin’ as weel, if I may say so. He’s my cousin, Lorna’s youngest bairn, just back from schoolin’ in Edinburgh. I believe he’ll do just fine.”

Curious about the boy, I leaned back against the counter, and inquired further. “What’s he like?”

“Weel now, he’s full o’ the mischief, but no mean-like. And he’s a wee bit o’ a charmer, much like yer Jamie.”

“Good. I’m glad … I mean that sincerely. I’m very grateful to you, Fitz.” 

She bowed graciously. “Think naught o’ it. ’Twas the least I could do, seein’ as Laoghaire caused ye so much trouble and all. Weel, I best get back to the bakin’ and such. Shall I see ye t’night then?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I’ll be on my way. Good day to ye, Mistress.” She bustled out the door, humming a tune.

. . . . .

The water I was drinking bypassed my esophagus and slid right down my trachea when Kyle entered the hall alongside Mrs. Fitzgibbons. I coughed and sputtered as Jamie patted me on the back.

She did not exaggerate one iota in her description of her kinsman. He was at least as tall as Jamie with a mane of thick dark hair, a cleft in his chin, and eyes in a color that bordered on turquoise.

When my fit of coughing ceased, I caught a glimpse of Laoghaire locking eyes with the handsome Romeo. She didn’t seem to have escaped his notice either, and Mrs. Fitz’ plan to seat them together was a moot point, as Kyle appeared to be gravitating toward her regardless. The attraction was duly noted by everyone in the hall. I would now add matchmaking to Mrs. Fitz’ plethora of talents.

Dinner was nearly over when Mrs. Fitzgibbons sauntered to where we sat at the table, with Kyle and Laoghaire in tow. She grinned like a proud mother hen, and nodding at us, declared, “Master James and Mistress Claire, I am most pleased to introduce my kinsman, Kyle Fitzgibbons MacGregor, from Dingwall.”

Kyle stepped forward and bowed formally. He looked up and spoke. “At yer service, milord and ladyship.”

I smiled at him, knowingly, and commented. “Master MacGregor, Mrs. Fitzgibbons told me all about you. And I see she was not boasting in the least. You do have the most beautiful blue eyes. I’ll bet you dazzle all the ladies with them.”

He turned toward Laoghaire. “Not since they lit opon bonny Laoghaire. I have eyes only for her now.”

He’d colored a bit from my comment, but not nearly as much as Jamie, who cleared his throat, and asked, “How was yer journey from Dingwall?”

“I havena been home as yet. I came op from Edinburgh and stopped off to visit my sister, Kenna, in Beauly. She told me a messenger had arrived that day saying as, if she saw me, Kenna was to tell me as I was needed at Leoch. And I rode straightaway here, and glad I am as I did so.”

“Well, we’re certainly glad you came.” I canted my head at my husband who was mysteriously quiet. “Aren’t we, Jamie?”

He sat there like a bump on a log, so I poked him with my elbow. He woke from his trance, and mumbled, without an ounce of enthusiasm, “Oh … aye. We’re verra pleased to be acquainted wi’ ye.”

Kyle backed away, bowed again, and taking Laoghaire by the hand, went back to the table. Laoghaire’s eyes widened, and her face reflected her feelings of, I can’t believe he’s all mine.

Mrs. Fitzgibbons shrugged, sighed in satisfaction and once again dashed off to supervise the cleanup, I suppose.

I leaned toward Jamie, and whispered, “That’s my idea of a suitable, young, virile husband. I hope her ex-fiancée soon gets the missive you sent, breaking their contract of marriage.”

He rudely answered with a, “Mmnph.”   
. . . . .

I was happy for them both, but Jamie seemed somewhat irritated. Later, when everyone retired for the night, I asked him what was bothering him.

“It’s that MacGregor.”

“What about him?” 

Jamie untied my laces in an agitated manner. “I saw the way ye looked at him.”

I stepped out of the skirt and folded it over the quilt rack. “Well, yes. He was very good looking. And just because I’m married to you, doesn’t mean I’ve gone blind in the interim.”

“Och—so ye admit it. Ye fancy him?”

“I don’t fancy him. I just said he had beautiful eyes.”

“And what o’ my eyes?”

“Your eyes are beautiful as well.”

“Ah, but no like his.”

“Of course not. It’s like comparing apples to oranges.”

“And ye prefer …?”

“Jamie Fraser. You are a jealous fool. He’s just a boy, not even twenty yet.”

He began removing the pins from my hair, then threw his hands up over his head. “If ye remember correctly, I was only three and twenty when ye marrit me!”

I started to laugh at the look on his face; it was flushing scarlet.

“Sassenach, ye find this funny, d’ye? And now ye’re laughin’ at me?”

“I most certainly am. You’re being utterly ridiculous. I’m in love with you, blue eyes, Titian hair, jealous streak and all.” I pulled down the covers on the mattress. “Now come to bed, and stop acting like a bloody arse.”

“Mmnph,” he muttered, as he yanked off his shirt and slung it onto a nearby chair. He sat at the edge of the bed, staring into space, his chin perched on one fist. “I am a bloody arse, and make no bones ’bout it. Ye’re mine, and the thought of ye lookin’ at another man, makes my heart crack clean down the middle wi’ the weight o’ it. I canna help it; I love ye so.”

I heard a loud whoosh of air escape his lips, and I scooted to his side. “Jamie … no one can ever take me away from you. I’m yours, and forever will be yours.”

With one finger, I tipped his face toward me and gazed into his eyes. “They are beautiful. And do you know why? Because they’re your eyes … because I can see the love in them. No other Scotsman will do for me. Now come to bed, my Scotty. I want you.”


	14. Invasion of the Sassenachs

Chapter 14: Invasion of the Sassenachs 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander. 

. . . . .

Strolling outside in the courtyard was a refreshing break from the stifling confines of the surgery. I breathed in the cool fresh air and looked up as a flock of geese swept overhead, obviously startled by something.

I heard them before they came into view. Murtagh was in the lead. His horse preceded a cart crammed with redcoats, some of them deserters, apparently. They were all in various positions seated on the rough-hewn planks, with Angus and Rupert riding alongside as guards, I imagined. 

As the cart lurched by me, I noticed one soldier lying prone, and moaning in pain. I hurriedly hitched up my skirts and began to run. Yelling to Murtagh, I directed him, “Take that wounded man to the surgery and be quick about it. I’ll meet you inside.”

Quickly, I cleaned my hands and poured distilled alcohol over them. With a clean sheet already spread over the examining table, I began setting out my instruments on the nearby cabinet. A few minutes later, two men carried in the injured soldier and lay him on the prepared surface. I recognized one of them as Corporal Hawkins and nodded at him.

“Corporal Hawkins.”

“Ma’am.”

I pivoted my head away from him, focusing attention on my patient. There was a widening river of blood seeping down the front of his uniform. It was an officer’s uniform, I noticed.

The poor man was groaning with pain. I looked up at the other soldier. “Lift his head.” 

I touched a bottle of thebaic tincture to his lips, giving him an adequate dose.

With his brow creased with worry, Hawkins asked, “Is Major Brighton going to be all right?”

I tried to speak low enough so that the wounded man would have difficulty hearing. “I can’t say with any certainty. I’ll have to look first. Can you help me remove his jacket and doublet?”

At that very moment, Angus and Rupert barged in, guns cocked, and ready to blow the corporal’s head off.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, put those pistols away! This is Corporal Hawkins. He’s a friend.”

Angus’ mouth curled up in an angry sneer. “Dinna be daft, lass. He’s a Sassenach.”

“So am I, you bloody fools. Now either help me here or remove yourselves from this room.”

“Dinna fash, woman. We only wanted to protect ye from the enemy, ye ken.”

“Well, there are no enemies here. So, if you intend to stay here, go wash your hands and stand by to hand me instruments as I require them.”

Grumbling, Rupert pointed at Hawkins, and scowling, said, “What ’bout the wee corporal, here?”

“As soon as we get this damn uniform off, he can wash his hands as well. Now, hop to it!”

I turned and glared at the other man, a deserter, who had remained silent all this time. “You—do you have a name?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s Robert Horrocks.”

I started at the name. He had to be the same Horrocks that Munroe had told us about. “All right then, Robert, you need to wash your hands with the others. And hurry, I can’t let this man hemorrhage to death waiting on you.”

. . . . .

After administering another dose of the narcotic, I instructed Hawkins to hold pressure on the shoulder wound with a thick wad of cloth while my two Scotch helpers, along with Robert held the man securely. When the bleeding was curtailed enough, I had Hawkins hand me some forceps, and told them, “Hold him steady now.”

The bullet wasn’t embedded very deeply, and I retrieved it on my initial attempt. Then I disinfected the wound thoroughly with alcohol and applied a poultice of herbs.

With the aid of these men, the work was accomplished swiftly, and they were off to transfer the patient to a room on the second floor. Angus, ever the suspicious one, took the first watch outside his door. Idiot … the Major was in no shape to undertake an escape. He was in a castle stronghold, surrounded by hundreds of armed Highlanders, for god’s sake.

. . . . .

Jamie was well aware that ex-private Horrocks was among the other deserters, and they all had been led away to the keep, but Jamie let Corporal Hawkins walk unhindered within Leoch. He was even allowed to sit at my right hand at the supper table.

Hawkins was tense, and I felt it was up to me to break the ice so to speak. “Corporal Hawkins, you don’t have to tell me if it’s too uncomfortable, but I am curious. How did the Major happen to get shot?” I asked. 

He had been cutting into a slice of lamb on his plate and put down his fork. “I suppose it’s no secret. Your kinsmen can tell you the facts, but since you asked ... There were three of us riding back to Fort William when we were ambushed by that pack of deserters. They were after our horses. We were outnumbered two to one, and the major ordered us to stand down, but Private Hardy refused to give up his mount and was killed outright. A stray bullet hit the Major during the skirmish. That’s when your Highlanders arrived and took us all prisoner. It stands to reason that we should all be dead if not for that occurrence.

“I must say, I was extremely pleased to see you in the courtyard. I knew no further harm would come to us, dear lady.”

“I was only too glad to help, whatever the color of the uniform.”

. . . . .

While the discussion with the corporal was easy enough, some of the other diners were a bit unnerved having a lobsterback seated at the same table. Their conversation wasn’t as lively as usual, except for a certain couple—Laoghaire and Kyle, to be exact—that seemed to be oblivious to the surrounding clansmen.

Jamie honed in on the couple, his gaze practically burning a hole right through them. He began muttering in Gaelic, then turned to me, complaining, “It’s indecent the way they look at each other, like they’re apt to op and take a bite, or some such thing. Plain lust, it is.” 

“You don’t think you look at me like that?”

“That’s different.”

My eyebrow rose of its own accord. “Why?”

“It isna obvious? We’re marrit, is why. And I dinna give ye the eye, ’til ye’re safe inside our room, behind a bolted door.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye.”

“What about the time out in the meadow?”

“There wasna another eyeball to be seein’ us, ye ken.”

“And that day in the barn?”

His head canted, nodding slightly. “Ah, if ye count the wee goat, then.”

“I do … and he nearly chewed the laces off my bodice.”

Jamie straightened up in his seat. “Weel, I still say they need to act more respectable in a public place.”

“That’s like the pot calling the kettle black. I distinctly remember your clansmen telling bawdy jokes while in my presence.”

“Aye … and ye’ll remember as I ne’er added to their infernal comments.”

“But you never made them stop, either.”

“Ye’ll excuse me for sayin’ so, but it was all o’ them agin’ one o’ me.”

“All right, you win, Scotty. You want them to stop making goo-goo eyes in company? Arrange their marriage then.”

“I will. I’ll talk wi’ Ned, and the lass’ father, Kieran MacKenzie, in the morn. They’ll be marrit in three weeks.”

“Good.” 

During this whole conversation, Corporal Hawkins sat quietly with an amused expression on his face.

. . . . .

The corporal accompanied me with every visit to the major for the next three days. He even helped me in the surgery, explaining that he wanted to feel useful.

The major had developed a fever, and Hawkins was extremely helpful in applying cool, wet cloths to the officer’s axilla and groin, taking it upon himself to shield me from viewing the patient’s intimate body parts. He was there also, positioning him so I could administer his medicine.

On the fourth day, the man’s fever had broken, and he was able to talk intelligently. His appetite had also returned, and his faithful comrade in arms assisted him in and out of bed, and down the halls to regain his strength.

I was measuring his pulse, when Hawkins, who was sitting beside the bed, asked, “Do you know where you are, sir?”

“Is this not Castle Leoch?”

“Yes, and do you know who the Laird is?”

“I believe it’s Colum MacKenzie?”

“Was … the new Laird is James Fraser, commonly known as Red Jamie.”

Major Brighton suddenly sat upright. “Red Jamie? Are you sure, man?”

“I’m certain of it, but I have important news about him.”

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“I was bringing food to the prisoners when I overheard an interesting conversation. One of the deserters, Robert Horrocks—I think his name is—confessed that Captain Randall falsely accused Fraser of killing his Sergeant Major. Horrocks witnessed the whole thing. It was another deserter, Thomas Bingham who shot the man. Fraser didn’t even have a pistol in his possession on that day and was too weak to carry one. The real murderer is coincidentally, in the keep at this time.”

“So then, Red Jamie is innocent of the charges?”

“It would appear so, sir.”

I dropped the major’s wrist and fought for my breath. If it wasn’t for the bed’s nearness, I would have fallen to the floor.

Corporal Hawkins glanced at me in alarm. “Ma’am, are you quite all right?”

“Yes, Corporal. It was just a shock, to hear you say those words. Jamie has been trying to find Horrocks all this time to prove his innocence.”

The major appeared confused. I explained to him, “My name is Claire Fraser; I’m Jamie’s wife.”

Major Brighton bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I’m grateful to you, Mistress Fraser, and I promise you that no further harassment will follow you or your husband.”

. . . . .

Leaving Hawkins at the major’s bedside, I raced throughout the castle searching for my sweetheart. Jamie came round a corner as I bumped into his chest. He took my harried and breathless condition as a sign of disaster and quickly drew his sword.

“Sassenach, has one o’ the prisoners escaped the keep?”

I couldn’t get the words out; my lungs screaming for air. I shook my head, and he re-sheathed his weapon.

“Has someone died, then?”

For the second time, I shook my head, no, inhaling a great gulp of air.

Now he was really concerned and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Stars and stones, woman, tell me what the matter is.”

“Jamie … Jamie …!” I sputtered. “Horrocks confessed, and the major knows. You’re no longer an outlaw.”

He slumped back against the wall. “I’m free?”

With tears in his eyes, he whispered. “I’m free. I’m free!”

Shooting away from the wall, he picked me up by the waist and whirled me around. Then plowing his fingers through my hair pulled me to him, and kissed me thoroughly. A servant cleared his throat, warning us of his presence. We separated, heeding decorum, but the grins on our faces nevertheless stayed put.

. . . . .

 

Jamie, true to his word, did indeed talk to the appropriate people about the impending nuptials of Laoghaire and Kyle, and the banns were posted. The marriage was to be conducted this afternoon, three weeks to the day as he predicted.

I donned my best dress for the ceremony, but was put out by my husband’s lack of finery. My Scotsman was in his daily attire, a plaid kilt, brown jerkin, and a linen shirt. “You’re not going to the wedding dressed like that, are you?”

“I’ll no be goin’, Sassenach. I’ve more urgent matters to attend to.”

Appalled, I sarcastically uttered, “And pray, what might those matters be?”

“Weel, for one, Seamus MacLachland had a goat stolen right out from under his verra nose, and Eoghann Bryce seems to have been makin’ some fine goat cheese. And for another, Ronan Broadie borrowed Fergus Reddick’s wheelbarrow, and won’t give it back to the man.”

“So, you’re telling me that a goat and a wheelbarrow are more important than Laoghaire’s wedding?”

“Aye. It’s my duty as Laird to make a judgment in these matters.” 

I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Jamie Fraser—what will your kinsmen think, if their own Laird doesn’t appear at the ceremony?”

“They’ll think that I am a verra busy man.”

“On the contrary, they’ll think that you’re an insensitive, self-absorbed introvert, with a narcissistic personality.”

Jamie’s face rumpled in confusion. “What’s that? I canna understand what ye’re tryin’ to tell me, Claire.” 

After closing my gaping mouth, I stammered, “That you’re a bloody arse. Never mind … I give up. I’ll have Murtagh escort me to the church.” Turning on my heel, I bolted out the door of our bedroom.


	15. Farewell to Arms

Chapter 15: Farewell to Arms 

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all the rights to Outlander 

. . . . .

Laoghaire looked beautiful, and Kyle, a handsome devil beside her. I envied her at that moment. She was willingly taking this man as her lifelong partner, and he was doing the same. I loved Jamie, but how much better our wedding would have been, had we not been forced into it by Dougal. Hindsight … bloody true what they say about it.

The happy couple rode off in a horse-drawn cart to an inn at Inverness for their honeymoon. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any witnesses waiting around in the dining area to confirm that the marriage was official, not that there could be any doubt.

Murtagh and I returned to Leoch, with nary a word exchanged between us. I was feeling … what … nostalgic? I’d already forgiven Jamie for his unfeeling attitude, and even anxious for some reason to see him. As unromantic as our wedding was, our marriage turned out to be a binding of two souls that were a matched set. God help me, I loved that stubborn Scotsman to distraction.

The horses were stabled, and Auld Alec and Murtagh began feeding and grooming them. I hurried into the castle, intent on seeing my Jamie. He was sequestered in the council chambers discussing some documents with a couple of other men, so I retired to my surgery once again.

. . . . .

There was an unusual absence of mishaps at Leoch Castle for once, and so I had very little to do. Feeling rather restless, I sauntered into the kitchen, and by accident, watched in horror as one of the help sliced up a chicken, and then, picking up an errant piece of meat from the floor, went on to cut up some cooked carrots.

“You there!” I bellowed at the boy. “Don’t you know that you could poison someone if you don’t wash your hands in between picking up trash and handling food?”

“What … poison? I dinna ken yer meanin’, Mistress.”

I stepped up closer to him. “I mean that if you work with raw meat, or retrieve an object from the dirty floor, germs get in the food and people can get dreadfully ill from it.”

His eyes widened in wonderment. “Germs?”

“Yes, germs. They’re tiny little animals that are so infinitely small you can’t see them, and they live on everything, even your skin.”

“But, Mistress, if ye canna see them, then how do ye ken as they’re there?”

Determined to get my way, I countered, “Just take my word for it. Food poisoning is nothing to laugh about.”

He nodded obediently. “Aye, milady. I’ll wash my hands as ye suggested.”

I smiled at the young man. “Good.”

Mrs. Fitzgibbons was nearby, kneading bread dough, and witnessed the altercation. Walking up to her, I said, “You need to re-boil those carrots or wash them well at the very least. I’ll not let us all be poisoned at my table.” She rolled her eyes and went about her business.

. . . . .

The next day, several of us were afflicted with stomach pains and retching—ptomaine! While I sat, leaning over a chamber pot, I wondered if Fitzgibbons had deliberately ignored my warning.

I was absent from the surgery for the next day, as I couldn’t stand on my feet for any lengthy periods of time. At any rate, Jamie advised me that there were no patients to be seen. They were too ill to get there, and Hawkins, bless his heart had taken responsibility for the major. My husband, along with the corporal, somehow escaped the dirge plaguing us unfortunates. They apparently bypassed that particular platter, not being great fans of the orange-colored root.

I complained to him, between bouts of gagging and retching. “I told Fitz to re-boil those carrots, and I don’t think she followed my orders. You need to talk to her about it.”

“Ah, I see. Ye gave her orders, aye? And ye wonder why she didna follow them?” He clicked his tongue and continued. “Fitz has been the matron o’f this castle for nigh on one and thirty years, and now ye come to the castle as the wife o’ the new Laird. Seein’ as she’s been here a wee bit longer, d’ye suppose she’d feel kindly to takin’ yer orders?” 

“Oh, hell. I guess I did come on a bit strongly. But how can I get her to understand the importance of keeping things sanitary?”

“Ah … ye mean clean.”

“Yes. It’s a miracle we all haven’t succumbed to some sort of stomach ailments sooner.”

He pivoted on his heel, ready to walk through the door. “All right then. I’ll speak to the woman.”

. . . . .

When the major and I were able to ambulate under our own power, Jamie had all the prisoners, officers included, in the judgment hall the following morning.

They stood in front of the dais anticipating the verdict. Jamie whispered something to Ned, who was his undisputed counselor, then spoke. “My decision is made: I’ll send ye back to Fort William under heavy guard. Major Brighton and Corporal Hawkins will be in charge of the lot o’ ye. It is op to the commander there to see to yer fate, as ye’re under the authority o’ the British crown. 

“Major Brighton, does that sit weel wi’ ye?”

“Yes, that seems appropriate, and I give you my word that when we reach the fort, your men will be permitted to return safely to Leoch.”

The prisoners were led out to waiting wagons, and Highlanders with pistols at the ready were mounted on either side of them. Corporal Hawkins and his commander each took my hand and kissed it.

“It was my pleasure to meet you, dear lady. I am forever in your debt for your hospitality and care. Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Major Brighton.” I then glanced at Hawkins. “I shall miss you, Corporal. How ever am I to manage without your help?” 

He grinned, and looking at the major said, “Perhaps I will desert the army and come here as your servant, ma’am.”

Tilting my head to look up at him, I quipped, “We shall surely hang together if that came to pass.”

Major Brighton laughed. “We must be off. Come along, Hawkins. Duty awaits us.”

They bowed ceremoniously, alighted upon their steeds, and began the trek to Fort William. I waved to them until they faded from view. 

. . . . .

“Oof!” Jamie’s head hit the pillow. “What d’ye think, Sassenach? Did I do the right thin’?”

“Yes, I believe so. That was very diplomatic of you. And, well … now that the Sassenach problem is solved, would you like me to see to your problem?”

“Aye, that would be verra diplomatic o’ ye.”

I giggled and pounced on him forthwith. In a few short minutes, his problem was solved as well.

. . . . .

Normalcy ruled my kingdom once more, and I was busy managing bouts of indigestion, respiratory troubles, catarrh, and of all things, toothaches—one of which at this minute was staring me in the face. I rummaged through the cupboard for my tin of whole cloves, only to find a single, measly, broken stem.

I left my patient to obtain some from the kitchen. Lo and behold, as I traversed the entrance, I spotted that same boy up to his old tricks again. This time, I went straight to Mrs. Fitzgibbons, and trying to be a bit more subtle, I began, “Latha math, Fitz. My supply of whole cloves seems to have run out. Would you happen to have any available?”

The big woman smiled at me. “Picking up a wee bit o’ the Gaelic, I see.”

With a spoon in her hand, she gestured to a row of cupboards behind her, lining the upper wall. “But, to be sure—they’re op in the cabinet, milady, where they always are … amongst t’other spices and such.” 

I reached up and took down the large container. “Thanks …Um … I noticed that boy is handling both meat and vegetables again. He’s using the same soiled cutting board for both, and he’s not washing his hands either.”

“Aye. He’s a verra forgetful lad.”

“Far be it for me to say, but maybe he should be assigned another job—the stables, for instance?”

“Oh nay, Mistress, he’s scairt o’ the horses, ye ken.” What? Since when is a Scotsman afraid of horses?

“What about working in the fields?”

“Osgar doesn’t like to be out in the cold or wet. He’s content to be workin’ in the kitchen where it’s cozy and warm.”

Not about to surrender, I followed with, “There’s got to be something else the boy can do, despite his young age. The scullery, perhaps?”

Fitzgibbons stopped stirring whatever it was she had in her pot and dug in her heels. “Weel, I’ll no trouble him ’bout it. He’s my brother’s grandson, and I promised to look after the lad, I did. I’ll no slough off the task to any o’ t’other servants. So here he shall stay, if ye dinna mind.”

She gave me a half-hearted smile to smooth things over I imagined, but dammit—I did mind, and very much so.

I muttered all the way to the surgery, placed a few cloves in a paper packet, and instructed the man with the ailing tooth, what to do with them. When he left, I stomped off to see Jamie. This matter had to be resolved immediately, or my name wasn’t Claire Fraser!

. . . . .

Jamie was in the study, his head bent over a table, going over some papers with Ned. Storming into the room, the papers fluttered in my wake. Gowan looked up cautiously, his eyebrows raised in shock. Heaven forbid that a woman should encroach upon the critically urgent goings-on of the menfolk. Bowing to me out of courtesy, he declared, “I’ll take my leave o’ ye, sir. It appears ye have some pressing business to sort out.”

As soon as the man left the study, I pointed at Jamie, and ranted, “What did you say to that woman? She’s totally blind to anything the boy does. I realize he’s her grandson, but Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, he’s going to kill us all. I’m not having it, Jamie. That boy has to go.”

“Och … I canna tell her to dismiss the boy. It will only start a blood feud.”

“Well, if you won’t do it, then what about Murtagh?”

He moved his legs further apart, widening the breadth between them in a belligerent stance. “And shove the poor man betwixt me and his Auntie. Nay, I willna allow it.” 

“So, we all have to worry about our stomachs until he leaves or she dies. Is that it?”

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. I will speak to her. Perchance Osgar can be persuaded to find employment elsewhere?”

“I already went that route. She was determined to keep him in the kitchen.”

“Stars and stones, what am I to do then?”

“I’m not the goddamned Laird. You are, and you’d better think of something, and quickly—Scotty.”

“Claire Fraser … Aye, I am the Laird, and I’ll thank ye no to speak to me in that tone o’ voice while there are subjects ’bout.”

I was just as aggravated as he was and fairly shook with emotion. “You knew I had a temper when you married me, so don’t go chastising me now because of it.”

Clearly in a foul mood, he threw down the sheaf of paper he was holding. It immediately careened off the table’s edge, dropping like a flurry of snowflakes. Ignoring the heap on the floor, he spouted, “Ye can curse me all ye want when we’re t’gether in our own room, but no here. Do ye ken my meanin’?”

“Oh, I ken it all right … the little woman should keep her mouth shut.” I breathed out loudly in my frustration. Bloody Scotsman. 

“Just forget it. I’m leaving.”

While in flight up to our bedroom, I thought of a diabolical scheme to get Osgar out of the kitchen, or at least to rethink his modus operandi. If I put some syrup of ipecac in his drink, and then told him the vomiting it induced resulted from his negligence in handling food? Hmn … 

I grabbed my coat from the peg near our bed, stopped by the surgery, filled a basket with some herbs and decided to visit a few of the expectant women in the shire. That should calm me somewhat.


	16. A Dutiful Husband

Chapter 16: A Dutiful Husband   
Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander 

. . . . .

I was almost finished with the last of my calls when I saw a horse coming toward me. Murtagh pulled up alongside the road and dismounted. “There ye’re, Lass. Jamie is outta his head lookin’ for ye.”

My ire welled up again. “What do I care? He probably rues the day we wed. After all, I’m a headstrong woman with a sharp tongue. It’s no secret that he’s ashamed of me.”

“Ashamed o’ ye? Isna likely. Yer husband was rushin’ ’bout the castle, searchin’ in ever’ nook and cranny, yellin’ yer name. The wailin’ was loud enough to be heard clear to the Highlands, I expect. His face was red as a beetroot when he couldna find ye anawhere. I thought the poor sod was gonna tear his bonny, red hair out.”

“What the hell is so upset about? I’m just seeing a few tenants.”

“Jamie doesna ken that. He thinks, ye’ve op and run away agin’, he does. He’s fairly daft wi’ the notion. I’ve ne’er seen a man so all-consumin’, mad-in-love as yer Jamie.”

“Bloody idiot. Well, I’ve got one more lady to see, then I’ll return. You can be on your way, Murtagh … and thank you.” 

Murtagh shook his head and quietly climbed up onto his horse. I heard him mumble under his breath as he flicked the reins. “Women …”

. . . . .

I opened the door to the cottage, my work done, and closed it behind me. After sitting in the dimly lit room of the small home, I squinted into the rare sunlight, stepping onto the stone path leading to the road. In the distance, dust was billowing in the air, and Trom Laighe was bearing down on me, galloping at break-neck speed. 

Jamie pulled back on the reins sharply, bringing the animal to an abrupt halt a few yards away from where I was standing. He sprang from the saddle as if his kilt was on fire, and with arms opened wide, sprinted forward to meet me. 

On his face was a look of sheer panic. “Sassenach … God in heaven, I’ve found ye, at last.”

He covered my face with kisses, his arms all the while crushing me against his torso. Words then poured out of the man in a veritable torrent. “I thought … oh god … I thought ye’d left me. Wild, I was, searchin’ for ye, ever’where, no knowin’ what to do if ye’d gone for good. Stars and stones, my heart stuttered, and stopped, seized wi’ fear. I was outta my mind, but then Murtagh said he’d seen ye on the road. Leastways, I couldna breathe ’til I saw ye wi’ my verra own eyes walkin’ towards me.”

He tightened his hold on my waist and cried into my neck. “Oh, Claire … Claire … Dinna e’er leave me unless ye wish me dead.”

His eyes were wet with tears. “Can ye forgive me, for bein’ such an arrogant fool? I ken how concerned ye were about the safety o’ the clan, and instead o’ givin’ ye my help, I let my stubborn pride stand in the way o’ it.”

I pushed him away, gently. “How could you think I’d left? It was just a silly argument ... well, maybe not that silly, but still …”

“Aye, but yer last words to me were, I’m leavin’.” 

I took his face in my hands, looking into those vivid blue eyes. “But I meant I was leaving the castle, surely not my husband.” 

“Truly?”

“Yes, truly.”

“Ah …” He let out a sigh. “Good.”

His hands cupped the back of my head, and his mouth was on mine, coaxing, insistent, warm and inviting. Surrender was inevitable. I never could stay mad at him for very long—damn the man. He completed his apology, with a brush of his unshaven cheek against my jaw, then, taking the basket from my curled fingers, murmured, “Come home wi’ me, Sassenach. I’ll walk wi’ ye.” Jamie clasped my hand and whistled for Trom Laighe who obediently ambled toward us. He took the reins, and we all strolled in a leisurely fashion to Leoch.

. . . . .

All eyes were on us when we appeared in the courtyard; eyebrows, I’m sure, raised to the heavens. There was no one in the stable as we led our horse inside, and Jamie took this opportunity to shower me with more of his love, so much so, that he lifted me in his arms, and carried me through the corridors of the castle and up to our room.

“Jamie,” I scolded. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned that the servants have seen us. They’ll all be wagging their tongues this evening.”

“Let them,” he answered. “Let them ken the mind o’ their laird; as he loves his woman, as he should. Dinna fash now, there’s nay need to be worrit ’bout it.” 

“But it’s the middle of the afternoon …”

“Aye, so?”

He gently released me, and placing me on my feet, began to loosen the fastenings of my corset.

“Wait,” I protested. “I thought you had a meeting with Ned and the others shortly.”

He continued removing the laces, concentrating on each little eyelet. “They can wait, roamin’ the hallways all the day long. I’ve more urgent business now—here wi’ ye, and I’ll be damned if I let triflin’ papers and documents and such interfere with the concerns o’ my heart. I love ye, Sassenach, and ye’re more important to me than the obligations o’ this place. My fealty is first to my wife, and I dinna care a barleycorn who says otherwise.”

I reached up to meet his lips, and whispered, “Well, when you put it that way.”

. . . . .

That afternoon, the loving was rich and tender. Jamie acted as if he had all the time in the world to share his pleasure with me, and my heart was overwhelmed with deep-seated emotion, but I knew this lovely respite would be short-lived. Jamie, after all, was the leader of this fortress, and his many responsibilities awaited him.

“You’d better go,” I urged him, even though I wished otherwise. “Ned and your clansmen are expecting you.”

Still lying naked and sated in each other’s arms, Jamie murmured, “Claire, I canna take my leave o’ ye ... no yet. With all o’ this laird duty thrust opon me, I suppose I forgot where my real duty lies. It took yer disappearin’ from these stone walls to make me think on my marriage vows agin. I willna set them aside … for, years from now, no a one will ken what I did, nor didna accomplish. But what I’ve doon here wi’in my own room will be remembered fore’er, and written in the books o’ heaven.”

He placed my palm upon his breast. “Do ye ken how much I care for ye? It’s a chasm as opened into my soul, and yer love poured into it, fillin’ in all the wee spaces, so as I’m no just myself, anamore. Ye’re inside me, a part o’ me, and I canna let ye go. I’d bleed from the missin’ o’ ye if we were to part. Truth be told, I’d have need o’ ye to make me whole once more.”

I sat partway up, bolstered on an elbow. With my free hand, I trailed the light growth of curly red hair encircling one of his nipples. “You’re so forgiving. I’m constantly throwing rebukes in your face, and you turn around and tell me how much I mean to you. It shames me.”

My head hung down and I averted my eyes. “I’ll try not to be so vindictive in the future, or at least wait to hurl insults at you in the privacy of this room. God … it must be hard on you. You’ve married a damned shrew.”

“And ye’ve marrit a clot-head.”

Chuckling, I leaned over him, bringing his head up to meet mine. “Come here, clot-head. I have need of you.”

As I proceeded to plant a kiss, Jamie clamped his arms around me and flipped me onto my back. “No as much as I’ve need o’ you … scoldin’ and all.”

Our passion erupted, but an unexpected knocking at the door quenched it abruptly. “Mistress,” a voice said, “ye’re wanted in the surgery. A wee bairn cut his cheek, and it willna stop bleedin’.”

“I’ll be right there,” I answered. Smiling at my amorous husband, I quipped, “What’s that you said about duty?”

“Weel, I canna hold it agin’ ye, if a bairn is bleedin’, ye ken.”

. . . . .

The little toddler was patched up, and peace reigned for the rest of that day. The following morning brought a surprise, however.

When I awoke, Jamie was sitting at his desk, scribbling a note of some sort. There was a timid rap at the door and Jamie pushed back his chair and stood with the paper in his hand, going to greet our visitor.

There, standing in the doorway, straight as a wooden soldier, was none other than the bane of the food handlers, Osgar. Jamie addressed him, “Ah … Garie. Take this to Ned and tell him, I’ll talk to him ’bout it at breakfast.

“Yes, Sir.”

Jamie nodded and smiled. “Thank ye, lad.” 

The boy left with the note clutched in his hand.

Confused as all get out, I asked, “Wasn’t that Osgar?”

“Oh, aye,” he confirmed. “Ye wanted him outta the kitchen. Garie isna the kitchen lad anamore. My personal page, he is.”

“Well—Jamie Fraser, aren’t you the clever one!”

He winked at me in his funny way. “Now, when my wife has gone missin’, I’ll send young Garie to find her and save me the damned trouble.”

“And if he can’t find me?”

“Och—then I’ll be forced to send in Swoop.”

That malicious vulture. I kept hoping that Jamie would tire of playing with that nasty bird, but alas, not bloody likely. I was beginning to wonder if he would invite Swoop to perch at our dinner table.

Jamie turned to walk into the hall when I stopped him. “Jamie—wait! However did you get Fitz to wrangle Osgar away from her apron strings?”

“It wasna too hard. I just told her as I was in need o’ a boy to carry messages and such throughout the castle—someone young and nimble. And did she have any suggestions? I said as it was a verra important position. She op and named Osgar quick as ye please, and now our stomachs are safe from the likes o’ him. I dinna suppose ye can get poisonin’ from papers, ay?”

I sat up, and pushing back some recalcitrant curls from my face, peered at him in awe. “Perfect solution, Scotty. I’m impressed.”

“Weel, I’ll see ye at breakfast then?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He shut the door behind him as he exited the room. I sighed and pulled back the covers. With my two feet firmly on the cold floor, I began preparing for my day.

. . . . .

Things were quiet in my surgery. To keep busy, I rearranged my bottles and tins, straightening out the shelves and cabinets, but even as I worked at the task, I couldn’t dismiss the last few hours with Jamie. The panic reflected on his face and in his voice repeatedly sifted, sneaky as a thief, through my brain. 

I thought back to a time when I went with the Scottish mob to collect the rents. Jamie sat beside me as we ate our lunch. I remembered how big his eyes got when he inferred that the reason none of his clan trusted me, was due to the secret I had tucked away. Was that it then? Through it all, Jamie—love aside—still harbored a dread of me leaving. I had run away—or at least tried to—three times already. What was to stop me in the future? No wonder the poor man was beside himself with worry. 

I promised him honesty at his request, yet he honored my wish to keep some matters undisclosed. The time had come. I needed to bare my soul to Jamie. He deserved it. Whether he would believe me or not would be another question.


	17. A Secret Is Revealed

Chapter 17: A Secret Is Revealed

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all the rights to Outlander   
. . . . .

I waited a few days—coward that I was—not wanting to ruin the renewed closeness that prevailed between Jamie and me. There was no way of ascertaining how he would respond to my revelation. While it was true that many of the people here were highly superstitious, unfortunately for me, my Scotty was not one of them.

As I bided my time, an occurrence with Swoop hastened the arrival of the impending conversation.

Jamie had gone out to the mew to see his bird of prey, only to find it empty. The escape route was obvious. The raptor had pecked away at the thatched roof and flown the coop, as it were. I saw the look on Jamie’s face as he and Osgar went about searching the grounds for the feathered fiend, and I never cared to repeat that experience, so later on after dinner, I spoke to him.

He sat at the end of the bed, removing his jerkin when I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Jamie … I …”

“Dinna be worrit ’bout me, Sassenach. I’ll no be grievin’ o’er that damnable bird. It wasna right to coop op a wild thing like him. He’s back where he belongs, amongst the other feathered creatures, so he is.”

“No … I …”

Jamie covered my hand with his own and swung me around to face him. “Ah, so that wasna what ye were ’bout to say?”

Patting a spot beside him, he remarked, “Set yerself down, Claire. I can see this is somethin’ preyin’ on ye, as needs to be discussed.”

Seating myself, I collected my thoughts, but not fast enough to suit the Scotsman, leaning his head toward me. “What is it? Speak out, woman. I’ll no chastise ye for tellin’ me anathin’ that’s the truth.”

“And that’s the trouble. I don’t know if you’ll be able to understand what I’m about to tell you, let alone believe any of it. Yet, I swear to you, Jamie; it is the truth.” 

“Weel, out wi’ it then.”

I grabbed his hand, squeezing it, and stared into those deep blue eyes, intense with curiosity. “I never told you where I was headed the day I ran away from young Willy.” 

He shook his head. “Ye dinna owe me an explanation. I love ye the same if ye tell me or no.”

With my hand outstretched to silence him, I said. “Please, Jamie. Let me get this out. Seeing the expression on your face when you found me the other day, made me realize how unsure you were of my staying with you. I need to put an end to that line of thinking.”

Sighing, I continued. “I was on my way to Craigh na Dun.”

His brow furrowed. “What possessed ye to go there?” 

“I was going back to my husband, Frank.”

The light in his eyes dimmed. “But … ye told me once … Are ye sayin’ as he’s yet alive, then?”

“No … I’m saying that he’s not yet born. So, I guess in a sense, he’s not alive.”

Jamie shot to his feet. “What?”

“That day when Murtagh found me captured by Captain Randall, I was wearing a dress that you men supposed was a shift. In truth, it was clothing that is appropriate in the year … 1945. 

“I came through the stones, Jamie. I don’t know how, but this time is not my time. That’s the reason why I know things that seem foreign to you; why some of my phrases make no sense to the clan.

“Frank was probably going insane wondering where I had gone. I had to get back to him, don’t you see?” 

Jamie began to pace, his boots clicking on the stone floor. Not making a sound, he was most probably processing all I’d just told him.

My hands were fisted in my lap, and I stared down at them. “You don’t believe it.”

He quickly knelt on the floor in front of me and pulled my hands into his. “Whether I believe it or no, ye’re here. Maybe ye didna come through the stones, but as the faeries sent ye. Either way, I’m grateful for the time ye spent wi’ me. But yer tale, it does explain some thin’s.”

His shoulders slumped, and his head hung in sorrow. “So … I lashed yer bare arse for tryin’ to return to yer rightful husband.”

I gently smoothed his curly hair. “You didn’t know.”

“I do now. I suppose I should take ye there myself and return ye to him if that’s what ye will.”

“Jamie … no. At the time, I wished to be with him, but his memory has faded. I don’t want to go back; I’m yours now. Forever. My love for you is so powerful, all-encompassing; it’s nothing like what I felt for Frank. I sometimes question when I’m lying with you if I ever really loved him at all.

“I won’t ever leave you—I can’t. You mean too much to me. You never have to worry about that again.”

“Truly?”

Overcome with emotion, I was unable to speak, and so I nodded; my lips trembling.

Jamie got off the floor and drew me up with him at the same time. Smiling, he announced, “Then, I suppose I’ll stay wi’ ye as weel, ’til our days be doon.”

That crooked smile turned my insides to a bowl of aspic. He sealed his declaration with a kiss, and we prepared again to be united as one.

. . . . .  
That unbelievable conversation had gone exceptionally well. At least it appeared that way. Maybe Jamie just thought I was insane and was doing his best to humor me. At any rate, he seemed happy, and I was too … remarkably so.

My work in the surgery continued, keeping me engaged, nonstop. Thankfully, it was valued by the populace and enjoyable to me. Then one day, I treated a young girl. She had been slicing up some beets apparently, and the knife slipped, cutting a gash in her thumb.

We talked as I bandaged the injured digit. “How old are you, Annis?”

“Thirteen, come this summer, Mistress.”

“And you’re working in the kitchen?”

She shrugged. “Aye. I like the cookin’ and such.”

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Another young sprout to spread her germs. I certainly will have to keep an eye on her.

. . . . .

Sure enough, the following week, I was leaning over a chamber pot, cursing that little girl. Was it too much to ask people to please wash their damned hands?

Thankfully, the nausea abated by mid-afternoon, but the next day was a déjà vu of the previous. Then for several mornings, I was still heaving. What was going on? 

Mrs. Fitz finally came into the surgery to see me. “I’m verra worrit ’bout ye, Mistress. Ye’ve no been comin’ to breakfast for goin’ on a week now.”

“I know. It’s the oddest thing. I’m just so nauseated every morning. I’m better by noon though.”

She nodded like she knew something that I didn’t. “Ah, weel, ye should be right as rain in a few more weeks, then.”

“What do you mean, Fitz?”

“Why it’s plain as the nose on yer face. Ye’re wi’ child, lass. Ye bein’ a Beaton and all, I’m surprised ye didna figure that out yerself.” 

“But … that … that’s inconceivable.” The pun was unintended. “I was married for eight years and never once got pregnant.”

“Tell that to yer Jamie. I think he’ll be verra pleased wi’ ye.” I heard her mutter as her skirts rustled up the stairs, “Pleased wi’ himself, more like.”

I collapsed onto a chair. Pregnant? How could I possibly be pregnant? I’d been barren for nine years for god’s sake.

I rushed right out to Jamie’s study, and for once he was alone. He glanced up from his desk when I stepped through the entrance. I’m sure my expression conveyed my shock.

“Do you have a minute?”

The leaflet in his hand was refolded, and placed on the stack of papers he was studying. “Aye, what’s happened? Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost.” 

I closed the door shut. “You’d better sit down. I have something to tell you.”

He slumped against the wall, crestfallen, expecting the worst, I imagined. “Ye mean there’s more?”

“No, Jamie. This has nothing to do with how I arrived here. This has to do with us—you and me.”

“How so?”

“I mean to say … goddammit, I think I may be carrying your child.”

“A child, ye say. My child?”

“Yes, your child. Whose child do you think it would be? I don’t know how it happened—but there it is.”

A smirk appeared on his lips. “Ye dinna ken how it happened, aye?”

Wagging a finger at him, I said, “You know very well what I mean. Nine years Jamie—nine years, and now after only a few months being married with you, and I’m pregnant. I don’t understand.”

Jamie walked very slowly toward me and threading his fingers through the hair on either side of my head, simply remarked, “Maybe it wasna yer fault. It was yer husband as was barren. At any rate, proud I am to be the father o’ our wee bairn.” 

With one arm around me, he opened the door and stepping into the opening, shouted, “Ye hear that, Leoch! I got my woman wi’ child. I’m to be a father. They’ll be celebratin’ this verra night.”

My eyes rolled involuntarily, as I looked up at the towering mass of testosterone. “I take it, you’re happy with the news.”

“Happy? Why, I’m giddy as Murtagh wi’ a new foal.” With that, he lifted me in the air, grinning like an idiot, and repeating, “Aye—we’re to have a child, we’re to have a child.”

Cheers filled the hall that evening when we strolled arm in arm to take our seats at the table. Then, many a toast was made in our honor. My cheeks were flushed, but Jamie … my word, his grin took up the whole of his face, and his chest was so puffed up, I thought his buttons would pop off his jacket and land in his food.

The revelry finally abated after a few days, and things went back to normal.

. . . . .

I was walking down the corridor toward the kitchen when I met Jamie coming from the opposite direction. One of his arms immediately wound about my waist. “Come along. Ride wi’ me, Sassenach,” he said.

I found myself in the stable looking at Brimstone and Trom Laighe, already prepared and waiting for us. Jamie helped me into the saddle, then swung a leg up and over his animal, and we were off at a trot.

He led us to a lookout point and laid a blanket on the ground. Jamie lifted me from Brimstone and set me on the woolen fabric, seating himself at my side. 

“Something on your mind?”

“Aye. Dinna suppose as I’m no pleased as ye’re expectin’ and all, but I keep thinkin’ on what ye told me t’other day … ’bout Frank, I mean. Ye dinna havta answer me if ye dinna care to, but … I was wonderin’ what yer husband was like. Was he a warrior like me?” 

The laughter fairly spewed from my mouth. “Hardly,” I replied, when I finally stopped laughing.

“I didna say somethin’ funny, did I?”

“No, it’s just that you and Frank are as unlike as night and day. He was a historian, heavily into books and genealogy records. If he were to pick up a sword, it would be to establish where it came from and from which era of history it sprang. You’d probably find him a bloody bore, and I have to admit, when we came to Scotland to search out his ancestry, I was bored—bored to tears.”

Touching his cheek, I smiled, and said, “However … I’m never bored when I’m with you.”

“Good.”

It suddenly dawned on me … I blurted, “I don’t believe it. You’re jealous of him, aren’t you?”

His lips tightened and he exhaled loudly. “If ye must hear me tell it … then aye, I am.”

I started laughing again. “Jamie Fraser. There’s nothing to be jealous of. Frank pales in comparison. I’m here, with you; your unborn child in my womb. You have my love, my body, heart, and soul. What more could you ask of me?”

His eyes narrowed, and he looked stricken. “But … d’ye still have feelin’s for the man?”

“I don’t know. I hardly ever think of him anymore. I suppose that’s a bit fickle, and even cruel of me. You’re just bigger than life. You seem to crowd out all thoughts of my past. I see my future with you, and only you.”

“Ah.”

Clicking my tongue, I said, “You are a clot-head. And I just happen to have an antidote for it.” I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his, startling him.

When he regained his composure, he wouldn’t release me for several seconds. With fingers cupping the back of my head, he whispered, “Lucky, I am to have such a healer o’ my heart. I thank ye, Claire, for lovin’ me, for stayin’ wi’ me, and for carryin’ my child in yer body. I’m grateful to the Lord above for makin’ ye my wife, and the stones at Craigh na Dun for guidin’ ye to my side. And that’s the truth o’ it.”


	18. A Love So true

Chapter 18: A Love So True 

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander 

. . . . .  
The retching and vomiting continued for several more weeks; every morning like clockwork. It was a glorious dawn, when the day arrived that I got up and hallelujah, my stomach was calm. Good thing too, because I was beginning to loathe ginger tea, and dry oatcakes.

Jamie was oversolicitous during this time. He coaxed me to nap during the day, and leave any lifting to his boy, Osgar, or himself, or another clansman. I felt like I was being treated as an invalid.

He practically set me in my chair at meals as if I was a china doll, ready to break at the slightest nudge. “I’m not ill, Jamie … I’m pregnant.”

Grinning, he muttered, “Aye, so ye’re. And I’ll no have anathin’ happen to ye nor the wee bairn, neither.”

My plate was always filled with vegetables, more than I could eat, and Jamie saw to it that milk was served at each meal. If he would oversee what was on the others’ plates, I’d have less to do in the surgery. Ah well, my health was in good hands at least.

With my prenatal care taken care of, I made it my business to scrutinize the techniques of the local midwives. I’d be damned if I’d let childbed fever take me away from my Jamie. I found an experienced woman who I came to admire, and tactfully schooled her, along with the rest, in ways to prevent infection. When she proved that she could deliver rather than kill me, I asked her if she would consent to aid me in childbirth, to which she agreed.

Mary Flanagan and I had great discussions on medical matters and traded information freely back and forth. I assigned her to substitute for me in the surgery during my lying-in period as well.

. . . . .

As my due date approached, Jamie grew very quiet and wasn’t sleeping well. I found him frequently out of bed, looking out a window, just staring.

One such night, I sat up, and seeing him poised at the casement, climbed out of bed. “Out with it, Scotty.”

He waved me away. “Sassenach … ye’ll catch yer death. Go on now, under the covers wi’ ye.”

I folded my arms, resting them on my bulging abdomen. “Not until you tell me what it is that’s bothering you.”

Jamie turned to me. “All right, then. I’m scairt o’ losing ye, Claire. My own mother died givin’ birth to my sister. I canna sleep, nor eat, for fear o’ what could happen.”

“I’ll tell you what will happen. I’m comparatively young and healthy, and I’ll give you a bonny wee bairn.

“Mary’s had lots of practice, and I’ve taught her how to safely deliver our baby. So, see you have nothing to worry about.” I have worries enough for both of us. 

“Come to bed, Jamie … please. I can’t sleep with you creeping about.”

. . . . .

Two days later, I did, in fact, deliver a baby girl. I can’t say that it was easy—Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ—it was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but worth every minute I suffered.

When Jamie came into the room to see me, he was white as a sheet. He fell to his knees kissing my hand and wiped the sweaty hair away from my face. He looked as exhausted as I felt, and rightly so. I could hear him while I labored, pacing outside the door during the whole ordeal. I don’t think he ate or sat down once.

Tears streamed down his face as Mary handed him his daughter for the very first time. “Brianna Jean,” he whispered. “I’m yer da, and glad I am to meet ye. I see ye have the red hair just like me.”

He planted a kiss on her tiny head and returned her to Mary to clean and dress her. Jamie sat on the bed and stroked my cheek. “Oh, Claire … ye did weel, but I dinna think I can let ye go through that agin. Maybe I can have the faeries bring our next one, aye?”

“I don’t imagine that it works that way, Scotty. Anyhow, there’s not a chance in hell that we could stay away from each other.”

“Aye, that much is true. I’d havta, unsheathe my sword to keep ye from assaultin’ my virtue.”

Mary glanced from Jamie to me, clearly shocked. “Master Fraser!” 

“It’s all right, Mary. He tends to exaggerate … a lot.” 

A smirk answered my comment; then he added, “Do I, now?” 

. . . . .  
Brianna was the apple of her daddy’s eye, and he took time every day to sing, or read, or play with her. There was never any doubt how much he loved her, or me, for that matter. 

And so, life at Leoch went on in peace and harmony for the next two years. Hamish had turned sixteen, and Jamie stepped down to let Colum’s son succeed him as Laird, leaving him Ned, and other able-bodied men to guide and assist him in his duties. 

I was once again pregnant. Apparently, Jamie’s covenant with the faeries never came to fruition. We returned to Lallybroch as soon as Hamish was able to wield the baton that was passed to him, and Jamie and I lived out the next few years blissfully until the war came. How in the bloody hell we managed to survive it is anyone’s guess, but that, as they say, is another story. 

The End

A/N: Next up. Jamie takes Claire back through the stones, but on second thought, follows her. The new era is not kind to the Highlander.


End file.
